


Excess of Liberty

by imthealphanow



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Angst, Bottom Derek Hale, Character Death, Dubious Consent, Human Stiles, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mating Bond, Slavery, Slow Build, Torture, Werewolf Culture, peter hale is super creepy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-01-09 05:10:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 47,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1141837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imthealphanow/pseuds/imthealphanow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a society where Weres dominate and humans are usually enslaved, Stiles Stilinski is bought as a birthday present. Derek Hale is a reclusive author who is part of one of the most well respected families within Beacon Hills, and is also the resident Alpha, following the death of his family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

 _“Excess of liberty, whether it lies in state or individuals seems only to pass into excess of slavery.” - Plato, The Republic._  

 

The air is cool, but Stiles has withstood worse. It’s October, just around the time where the wind picks up and temperatures drop. This is the third slave auction Stiles has taken part in this month.

The shackles around his wrists, ankles and neck are cold, the metal not warming up with Stiles’ body heat. His skin is goose-pimpling a little, but that’s a given when you are standing naked on a late October morning. Stiles knows it’s not as bad as it could be; two years ago he spent his time being carted around Chicago in the middle of January. This is nothing.

Around him, some people obviously do not feel the same way as he does. One woman, in her late fifties or sixties, skin and bone, is shivering incessantly in the cold wind. A small girl next to her, ten at the most and equally as thin as the old woman, looks like her bare feet are about to fall off. Stiles can hear her breath wheezing from as far away as he is. She won’t last long. Even though there are laws put in place for the welfare of slaves, such as a daily ration of food and rules against abuse, but they weren't enforced like they should be.

The auctioneer is running around the twenty slaves or so, getting ready for the big sell-out later in the day. This is the last place the slave master is stopping at, having been carting around the same slaves for four months now, and the man is selling off all the slaves for a reduced price just to get them off his hands. All the strong slaves, the useful ones have gone now. Most of the beautiful slaves, meant to become concubines and whores have also been bought. Stiles can understand why he is left with the old and the sick, he is not strong enough to work in the fields, nor is he pretty enough to spend his days sucking off strangers cocks or bringing equally unknown women to orgasm.

As he waits, chains rattling, a crowd of people gather in the marketplace, surveying the goods. Stiles is grabbed by the chin multiple times, men and women wanting to look in closer detail at his features. They always leave him be, one woman’s eyes lighting up yellow in disgust. Fucking Weres.

When the humans have been ogled at properly, the auctioneer starts the bidding. Stiles is one of the last to be sold. All through the other people being sold Stiles feels the sick feeling of dread deep in his stomach. All he can hope for is that his new master or mistress is nicer than his last one, but he doesn't want to raise his hopes up. Hope is for those who are free.

 

***

 

Peter surveys the ramshackle group of slaves, and is disappointed by the meagre selection. It is his nephew’s birthday in two months time, and he wanted to get him something nice to play with. He snorts with derision. None of these filthy animals are worth his time. Still, he knows that Derek needs someone to boss around, to accompany him, and the next auction is not until February. He will have to make do.

He smirks a little when he realises that the people have made a large circle around him, afraid to get close to someone from the most well known and respected families in Beacon Hills and the surrounding area. That is what Peter likes, respect. The only two people close to him are his slaves, and they are there to do his bidding and respect him like the subordinates they are.

He loses interest whilst the women are auctioned off, knowing that Derek would be better off with a male. Each of the slaves has a look of complete and utter hopelessness, and whilst that is what Peter ultimately wants, he also enjoys the fun of breaking the human in first. None of the men seem to catch his eye either, until a skinny young man, not any older than fifteen is pulled up onto the podium by his collar. The boy looks like nothing at first, twenty pounds lighter than is probably healthy, but Peter sees the flash of anger in his eyes at his being manhandled and he can feel his wolf growl in agreement. This boy is what he wants. This boy is perfect.

The bidding starts for the boy, a meagre amount to begin with. The town centre is silent and the boy blushes as at first nobody puts a bid up for him. Peter waits until the price is lowered, and then raises his hand with the numbered piece of paper inside. No-one dares try to argue with him, as he is one of the infamous Hales after all.

The boy is sold to him for eighty dollars, and he stumbles off stage with a look of fear in his eyes. He reeks of it. Now, all Peter has to do is train him a little before he can give him to his nephew. Peter smiles. He always did like to give people good birthday presents.

 

***

 

Stiles is pulled off the stage, and his chains are removed, save the one around his neck. He is then shoved into the back-seat of a car and driven off, still naked, to an unknown place. He was sold for nearly nothing, and he doesn't know what is going to happen next. His heart beats faster in his chest and from the way that the Were driving smirks at him through the rear-view mirror, he knows exactly how terrified Stiles is.

After about half an hour of twisting roads, winding until Stiles has no sense of direction left, the man pulls up to a house, a mansion even, hidden by dense woodland. Stiles would not have even known it was there, save for the road running from the street behind through the trees.

The house is massive, a huge timber frame that almost reaches the heights of the trees around it. The car comes to a standstill outside the front of the house and then Stiles is unceremoniously dragged from the car and up into house.

The home screams splendour, with rich red curtains and thick carpet lining the floors. Stiles even thinks he can see mirrors lined in gold leaf, and judging by the rest of the place, he suspects the gold is the real deal. The man takes off his coat and scarf whilst Stiles waits impatiently by the front door. He’s still naked, still chained. He stares at the floor, not entirely certain what he should do.

“Come with me.” Stiles looks up at the man, uncertain where he is going. The man beckons and Stiles shuffles along.

“I'm Peter by the way,” the man says as he walks down the great hallway. “And you are my new project.”

Stiles doesn't really like the sound of that. Peter stops in a great dining room, holding a table big enough for at least twelve, but only one place is set.

“Sit.” Stiles is so surprised by the command that he immediately reaches out for a chair, but the man bats his hand away before he gets a hold on the seat.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Peter hisses, eyes flashing blue. Stiles shrinks back in terror. Fuck. He hasn't even been in this house for half an hour and he’s already messing up. Not only that, but this man is a Blue. What has he gotten himself into?

“You are a filthy animal. And filthy animals do not sit on chairs do they? They sit at their master’s feet!” Peter backhands Stiles around the face and Stiles drops to his knees hands folded behind his back, as he has been trained to do. God, he should have known better.

Peter looks down at him, a faux upset expression on his face. “You are here for two months, boy, and I am going to ready you for someone special to me. If, when your six month trial period is up and you are not satisfactory, I promise you will end up somewhere far worse than a slave seller's group. You are to be utterly obedient, and if you are not, you will be punished. You will sit on the floor, you will not talk unless told to, you will sleep in the cage downstairs and you will absolutely not pretend that you are above the slave that you really are. Am I clear?”

Stiles can’t really understand why he ever thought being sold was going to be better than where he had been before.

 

***

 

Derek wakes up one morning feeling distinctly… unsettled. At first, he can’t remember why he feels this way, until he looks at the digital clock next to him, and realises that today, it is the second of December and he is twenty two years old.

He’s 22, and he feels like he’s seventy.

He gets out of bed lazily, there’s no one around to wake him up, and stumbles to the kitchen, pulling on a tank top as he goes. The polished black granite of the kitchen gleams back at him, obviously the monthly cleaner came in yesterday to tidy up. Derek didn't notice; he’s too busy trying to push his way through another page on his book. The words are fighting him at the moment, and he doesn't really know how to break free of it. Derek bypasses the letters on the table, probably birthday cards from people he doesn't really know or care about and goes to get some food. He scratches the back of his head as he searches through the fridge for something to eat, but in the end he just gives up and pours himself a bowl of cereal and is done with it. He can't find the effort to make himself breakfast.

Once he’s shoved the bowl and spoon in the dishwasher he makes his way to his home gym, and starts doing push-ups in order to let his mind roam. Exercising is the only time that Derek can really get out of his head and just ponder, without feeling stressed or irritated. The next time he looks at the clock, three hours have passed since he woke up, and it’s nearly midday.

He showers slowly, making sure that he cleans every inch, before standing under the hot spray and jerking off, one hand up keeping his balance against the marble walls, the other wrapped hard around his cock. When he’s finished, he stands still under the water until his fingers are wrinkled, letting the water flow over his face and hair.

He’s changing into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt when he hears the doorbell go, and he stumbles down the stair case and through the unnecessarily long hallway to reach the door. When he pulls it open, he sees Uncle Peter, standing alone, hands in his pockets. The man is smiling and Derek just isn't in the mood for a happy person.

“Derek!” Peter exclaims, stepping forward and slapping him on the shoulder. “Happy birthday! How are you, dear nephew?”

Derek sighs, but opens to door wider to let his uncle pass, however Peter does not immediately step inside.

“Derek, I have to give you your birthday present! I left it in the car so it was a surprise. Why don’t we make our way into your living room and I’ll get Matt to bring in the gift.” With that, Peter motions somewhere Derek can’t see, and then steps inside.

“Honestly Derek,” Peter says, while the two of them walk down the hallway. “Did you really think I would just leave you alone on your birthday in this big house? What kind of an uncle do you think I am?”

Derek doesn't really know how to answer that.

They reach the room, and Peter ushers him inside, directing him where to sit. It’s such a Peter thing to do, telling Derek what to do whilst he’s in Derek’s own house.

“So,” Peter begins, hands clasped together in excitement. “I'm not going to lie to you; I really think I've outdone myself this year! I thought to myself, what does Derek really need?” Peter acts as if he is being contemplative, and Derek starts to worry. “And I thought, gosh, Derek must be so lonely all the time, in a big house all by himself, so I decided to get you a toy!”

At these words, two young men walk into the room, each one holding the arm of another young man, with a black bag covering the top of his head. The boy is pale and freckled, with moles all over his body. The only thing the boy in the middle is wearing is a garish red bow tied around his middle. Derek can smell the fear and anxiety rolling off the boy in waves.

“Happy birthday Derek!” You can use him all you like; he’s completely trained and very respectful. And of course, I bought you all the supplies you need for him, including his food. He’s quite docile, don’t worry.”

One of Peter’s slaves, a man with dull brown hair and cold eyes, pulls the hood off the young man, showing a boy who looks even younger than Derek first thought, with freckles lining his skin, with large amber brown eyes and tufted brown hair. The boy focuses on Derek a moment before his eyes widen and he drops his head down in submission.

“I have all his documents here,” Peter says, motioning to his slave who didn't take off the hood, who Derek now realises is carrying a nondescript wad of paper in his free hand. At Peter’s gesture, the slave moves forward and deposits the papers in Peters hand before moving respectfully back again.

“You have a four month trial period until April, just to get used to the boy, in which you cannot permanently mark him; however, I think I have chosen so well, you will not need to send him back!” Peter looks so pleased with himself he doesn't seem to realise that Derek hasn't actually said a word since the boy came through the door. “He doesn't have a name, obviously, so you can call him whatever you want. He responds quite well to anything.”

Derek doesn't really know what to say. Of course, the house does get lonely at times, but Derek is quite happy to just stay in his study and work all day without having to worry about another person in the house.

Peter catches his eye and then sits down next to Derek, leaving hardly any room.

“Oh don’t worry about him Derek, he can look after himself. He knows what to do, what his duties are. All he has to do is serve you!”

Derek musters up a smile for his uncle. “Thank you Peter. I can see the amount of effort you have put into my present and I really appreciate it.”

Peter positively beams. “I knew you’d love it! Now, I must apologize, but I have an appointment elsewhere. Do tell me you will come to the Beacon Ball next week, of course it is required that the Hale family must be there, and it would be terrible if you stayed at home again.”

His uncle stands up again, dusts off his spotless trousers and motions his slaves to let go of the boy. As soon as they do, Peter strides out of the room with his slaves following him like bodyguards. As Peter is about to leave the house he turns and leans into Derek, whispering into his ear even though he could have whispered all the way from the car and Derek would have heard him. Peter was always one for theatricality.

“I know you’ll like him Derek, I know your… preferences.” Peter murmurs. “I do make the best choices, you’ll see.”

And with that, Peter sweeps out of the house, one of his slaves closing Derek's front door silently behind them, and Derek is left in the house with one person more living in there than beforehand.

 


	2. Chapter 2

When Derek makes his way back into his living room, he finds the boy still in there, still entirely naked, save for the gaudy red bow. The young boy is kneeling, facing towards the door with his head bowed and hands clasped tightly behind his back. Derek can hear his heartbeat, could hear it all the way from the door, and he frowns at how it quickened when he walked down the hallway and into the room. 

Derek stops at the doorway, unsure what to do. He dithers for a moment, before rapping his knuckles on the doorframe. The boy looks up. His eyes are gorgeous, a beautiful shade of brown, lined with eyelashes that should be illegal. His eyes are wide with terror.

Derek tries to speak and chokes for a moment, swallowing his words for a second in embarrassment. “What’s your name?” He finally asks. He can feel the tips of his ears reddening. 

The boy stares at him for a moment longer, mouth open, before dropping his gaze again. “I am what you call me master.” He murmurs quietly, so quietly that if Derek had not been a Were he would never have heard it. Derek really doesn’t know what to do with this boy. He doesn’t particularly need him, and whilst he is startlingly attractive Derek does not really want to pull the boy up to his room and fuck him into the bed. What he sort of really wants to do is go up into his study and finally work out what the hell Tom is going to say to Alexis now that he’s finally found out what Alexis did in his novel. Not that he’s worked out what Alexis has done to Tom yet. God, his works are complete travesties.

Derek suddenly realises that he has been standing staring at the boy for at least a minute so he coughs and shakes his head. “I’m lacking imagination today,” he says, semi sarcastically (it is true, after all) and the boy looks at him in confusion. “Come on, tell me your name. Your real name, not the numbers I know I’ll find on your documents.”

The young man blinks once, twice and then utters quietly, “Stiles, master.” 

Derek nods once, what does he do in situations like this? He has a stranger in his house, someone he can’t really find a use for, and he’s not particularly bothered what Stiles does or says. He kind of wishes, in the back of his mind, that Peter really hadn’t made the effort to buy him a birthday present this year. Or if he had, maybe he could have bought him something a little more useful. 

Derek nods again, and then motions for Stiles to stand upright, which the boy does immediately and without question. The movement brings Derek’s attention to the young mans rather naked person and he realises with a sigh that Stiles is going to have to borrow his clothes. This makes his wolf slightly impatient, and Derek realises this is because he doesn’t want his scent to mix with the boys. 

“I’ll show you around the house,” Derek says shortly, and turns around, expecting the boy to follow him. The boy does of course; he’s obviously had his manners well trained into him. Derek shows Stiles around the lower floor, where the bathroom is, the kitchen, the gym, and the basement, (which upon further inspection Derek realises the door is unlocked, Peter must have gotten another slave to carry Stiles’ belongings with him. Derek makes a mental note to ask what exactly came with Stiles the slave). In the kitchen he realises the same slave must have filled Derek’s cabinet with the government rationed slave food, ‘slave kibble’, showing a collared slave happily eating a piece with his chained hands. Derek is glad, at least now he doesn’t have to worry about buying extra food for the boy. 

He then takes Stiles upstairs, motioning to the spare bedroom, in which Derek assumes will become Stiles’ new room. He gestures vaguely into the room and tells Stiles that it’s his. The boy looks on silently with his hands still locked behind his back. He then shows the boy the other three spare bedrooms, the massive library that Derek is very proud and fond of, the other bathroom, the hot tub and shower room and Derek’s own bedroom at the end of the hallway. He also motions to the stairs up to the next floor and says that the floor holds two extra bedrooms, another bathroom, and an art studio. The trip upstairs isn’t made though. They stop opposite Derek’s bedroom and Derek motions to the shut door but doesn’t open it.

“This is my study,” Derek states, “I work in here and this is my private area. You are not allowed in here ever, and I expressly forbid you in entering this room and my bedroom without prior spoken permission from me. If you interrupt me whilst I am in my study there will be issues. Are we clear?”

Stiles nods silently. He’s shivering, Derek notes absently. He then mentally smacks himself in the face because of course he is shivering, he’s naked and the house is warm, but not that warm.

“Do you have clothes with you?” He asks, and Stiles nods again. “Go and put them on then, I refuse to have you around my house naked all day, Jesus.”

Stiles nods again, but it’s lower, almost like a stunted bow, and hurries off, bare feet hitting the wine red carpet silently. 

Derek stays where he is for a moment, before following Stiles downstairs and picking up all of the bits of mail and packages that have arrived for his birthday. He then detours to collect all of Stiles’ documents before walking back upstairs to his study, opening the lock using the biometric finger scan lock he purchased two years ago. Ever since the fire he’s always been a little… paranoid. 

When he’s inside the room with the door shut and locked behind him, he sighs, brushes himself off, and proceeds to pour himself a large glass of wolfsbane infused whisky. It may be his twenty second birthday, but he is sure as hell going to spend it alone in his study consuming copious amounts of alcohol, trying to forget the fact that there is a human in the house with him.

 

***

 

Stiles frets. 

He doesn’t know what to do. He dressed into his slave issued clothes -one thin shirt, baggy trousers and plimsolls a size too small- as master told him to, and now he’s gone upstairs to find his master is in the room that must not be seen and he has no orders to fulfil. 

He wrings his hands for a good twenty seconds, pacing back and forth whilst he works out what he should do, before he finally makes a decision. He decides that since he is not allowed to eat until the house is spotless, (a rule firmly put in place by Peter, who Stiles now realises is master’s uncle) he must clean.

The next nine hours are passed with Stiles dragging the cleaning supplies out of the basement, and tidying the entire house. He cleans every bathroom in the house, making sure to scrub every tap fitting, every corner and curve until the bathrooms gleam. He then dusts each of the rooms, including the bedrooms and the rooms upstairs, which obviously haven’t been used in a while. The next hour is spent by Stiles heaving a mop up each flight of stairs and using it to clean every non-carpeted floor in the house, at one point he gets down on his hands and knees and honest to scrubs the floor to get rid of a particularly sticky mark. He polishes each of the brass staircase handles, scrubbing until each inch shines brightly. 

Stiles finishes off by hand cleaning every single piece of cutlery in the house, until each set is like new. By the end of it, his hands are raw, cracking at the knuckles and even bleeding in one place, but that’s okay, because his master’s welfare means more than his own. 

By the time he is done, it is almost eleven at night, and his owner has still not emerged from his room, so Stiles decides to make him dinner. He makes a satisfying, filling pasta carbonara, after checking that the cheese is still in date, before taking up the tray and leaving it outside his master’s bedroom. As his owner is a Were he thinks he will be able to smell it.

When he has returned to the kitchen he decides to finally give himself dinner, and pours half a portion of kibble into a bowl. He doesn’t want master to think he is being greedy. He eats it dry, although its better with milk as it almost tastes like cereal then, and drinks half a cup of water before making sure that each door and window in the house is locked so master does not get burgled. Once he is satisfied that the house does not need any further work he opens the door downstairs into the basement and crawls inside the cage Peter brought in for him.

He realises master told him that he could stay in one of the spare bedrooms but Stiles realises that he is not good enough for such a gift, and so must stay down in the dark. Stiles thinks that masters quip that he could stay in the guest bedroom was obviously a trick, in order to see if he was a worthy slave or not, but Stiles will not disappoint him by being unnecessarily obsessed with his own happiness

Peter told him not to rise above his lot in life, and at first Stiles knew he was better than what Peter was saying, what all his former masters had said, but he realises, under Peter’s dedication to fixing Stiles that this is not the case. Stiles himself is worthless, he is a human meant to give Weres safety, stability and pleasure. If he does not succeed in these objectives, he will be punished severely. 

The heating does not extend down under the house, and so Stiles spends the rest of the night shivering in the cold room. The threadbare blanket Peter gave him will have to do. His stomach grumbles, the meagre meal was not enough, but Stiles tells it to shut up and move on. He has been eating the same portion once a day for the past month and a half now at Peter’s house, and it isn’t just going to change now that he is here. He is here to serve and obey, not to give in to temptations. 

Stiles sighs and falls into a light sleep, knees supporting his head and long fingers curled around his legs for warmth. He only has time for a couple of hours sleep before he gets up to start work again for master anyway. 

 

***

Derek wakes up the next morning in his bedroom, after another extremely worthless day. No matter how hard he tries, he cannot characterise the figures in his story properly, and it is making him extremely edgy. Being such a well known figure in California, and having also put out a well received novel already, means that his agent has asked for a time limit of the first draft of the book in couple of months, but Derek doesn’t think he’ll be anywhere near finishing by then.

He rolls around in the sheets awhile, idly scent-marking his territory without realising it, while he ponders different plot lines in his head. He considers making Alexis a terrorist for a moment, but it doesn’t really go with the small town novel idea Derek has started with. 

Eventually, he heaves himself up out of bed, after debating whether he can be bothered to jerk off, before nearly tripping on the dirty dishes next to his bed. Derek doesn’t remember putting them there, until he suddenly thinks back to last night, when he finally left his study to find a plate of pasta, still steaming, outside of his bedroom door opposite. Derek had looked around but he couldn’t find Stiles to thank so he had just picked up the tray and eaten it within his room. 

Derek has to admit, he can see the plus side to having Stiles in his house. The pasta was one of the most delicious things that Derek had eaten, and since Derek is used to half-assed dinners and many, many lazy bowls of cereal, the change from college student food to full dinners will be a welcome change. 

He puts on his shirt from the day before and makes his way downstairs. The air is full of the smell of cleaners and detergents, and the scent makes his nose feel uncomfortable. He follows the faint sound of feet into the kitchen, where he finds Stiles putting the finishing touches of a full English breakfast onto a plate. God, the smell of the food makes Derek’s mouth water. He didn’t even realise he had bought any of this. Perfectly cooked sausages and bacon, toast, beans, a cooked tomato, and god, are those mushrooms? Derek hasn’t had such an amazing breakfast in months.

“This will be ready in a second master, please sit down sir.” Stiles says quickly, laying a perfectly poached egg on top of the slice of nicely browned toast. Derek obliges and sits whilst Stiles places the plate in front of him, along with a knife and fork and a cloth napkin.

“Thanks.” Mutters Derek as he picks up the utensils, and he gets to work. God, each bite is heavenly. After a while, once Derek has emerged from his food high he realises that Stiles is kneeling by his feet, perfectly silent. 

“Have you eaten?” Derek says, frowning. It’s a little awkward to be eating by himself, whilst Stiles sits and waits for him to finish eating.

“I… do not require food right now, master.” The boy stammers, and Derek can't quite understand why he just lied to Derek.

“Stop lying, I can hear your heartbeat.” He says, and Stiles yanks his head up, heart suddenly beating much faster than before. 

“I’m sorry master, it won't happen again master, I’ll be good master, and I promise I won’t lie to you again-” Derek holds out a hand and Stiles immediately stops talking, tongue licking his lips nervously.

“Here,” he says, picking up one of the slices of toast that he doesn’t really need and holding it out to the boy. “And sit on a chair, you’re making me uncomfortable.” 

Stiles looks like he wants to protest but instead he shuts his mouth and rises from the floor slowly and fluidly before seating himself on the chair to the left of Derek. He accepts the toast with a tiny, “thank you” before eating the slice with small measured bites. Derek finishes his breakfast before pushing his plate back and standing up. 

Stiles gets up also, as if to follow him, but Derek lightly pushes him back into the chair.

“I’m going to use my gym now, before I will move to the study. Please don’t interrupt me, I am busy.” Stiles nods once and Derek leaves the boy alone, with a half eaten slice of toast still in his hands. As soon as Derek leaves the room he hears a great sigh of relief coming from the boy, and decides that perhaps it’s for the best if he stays away from Stiles, especially if the boy gets so nervous around him. 

 

***

As soon as Master leaves, Stiles breathes out and then shoves the rest of the slice of toast into his mouth. He had not wanted to seem desperate, or like he was a nuisance in front of Sir, just in case he got a beating, but now that Master is gone he can eat like he wants. 

The slice, slathered in thick butter, is the first thing Stiles has eaten that wasn’t kibble since he was bought by Peter. The first time Peter caught him eating food he shouldn’t have Peter had bought a taser and had repeatedly shocked the bottom of his feet until he cried. His old mistress, when Stiles had done the same thing, had held Stiles up by his arms so that only his tiptoes could touch the floor and had left him there for ten hours- an hour for every grape he had eaten. That time, his left arm had dislocated, but Stiles thought himself lucky. 

When Stiles finishes the meal (god, he wishes he could have more) he cleans up the dishes, the pans he used to make Master the breakfast with, and then scrubs down the kitchen and dining room thoroughly. Once he is done, he decides to finish the internet shopping for Master’s dinners over the next week (he had been pleased to find that Master already had his bank details saved on the website) and then he goes outside to start gardening. 

It’s December, and it’s cold outside. The wind throws up red and burnt orange leaves around him, while he trudges around Master’s gardens in order to find the shed. 

He finds it after a while; it’s tucked behind a tree and random debris. For all that the inside of the house is mainly new, the garden has been severely neglected. Stiles shivers as he drags out a trowel from the shed, and then gets to work on his hands and knees in front of the veranda, digging up any weeds in the flower beds in front of the house so that Master can go out of the door and feel proud of his slave. 

Stiles’ shirt is thin and basically useless against the brisk wind, and soon his fingers start to turn a dark reddish purple. He keeps pressing on however, until he literally cannot feel his fingers enough to grip the trowel properly. He then drags all of the plants he’s dug out into a sack, so it can be disposed of easily. He makes his way back inside when it’s finally getting dark, so that he can make Master dinner again. 

There is very little in the cupboards but Stiles manages to scrounge enough together to make a lamb curry with rice. The curry smells divine, but Stiles knows he must abstain, since he has already taken Masters food today. He takes the tray upstairs again, along with some wolfsbane infused beer that he found. Stiles is nervous about giving Master the beer, just in case he gets drunk and then decides that he actually wants to take the edge off after all and fucks Stiles so hard he bleeds. Stiles has been fucked before though by a former master, who he helped through his master’s heat and Stiles had been covered in deep scratches for days. He hadn’t been able to walk properly for a week after that.

Stiles can do it, he will do anything for his Master, but that doesn’t mean he wants to do it.

He leaves the tray outside master’s door, just like he did yesterday. Before he goes downstairs and scrubs all of the pans clean again. Washing the pans once more has meant that his hands are cracking as soon as they dry, and he accidentally smears some blood on his only shirt. 

He doesn’t eat any kibble, as he knows that Master would disapprove since he already ate today. Slaves are meant to help and serve, not have money spent on them. So he goes back downstairs, into his cage and waits there until morning, all the while wrapping his hands around his arms for warmth, and shuddering when he realises that he can fit the entire circumference of his upper arm into the circle made between his thumb and forefinger on his hand.

 

***

 

Derek is woken up the next morning by a timid knock on the door. He groans and rolls over, trying to force himself back to sleep. Roughly a minute later, the knocking comes again. 

“Master?” Comes a scared voice through the door, and Derek groans before rolling back over and throwing the covers off the bed, crossing the room and throwing the door open in annoyance. Stiles shrinks back, and Derek tries to get himself under control so he doesn’t give the boy a heart attack.

“Master, I know you told me not to disturb you while you were in your room, but there is a woman at the door asking for you.”

Derek frowns, he doesn’t remember having an appointment or inviting someone over. “What does she look like?” He says, pondering who it could be.

“She looks fucking fabulous.” A voice calls from out the hallway, and Derek snaps his head up. 

“Erica.” He says, and she laughs delightedly, pulling him in for a hug even though he’s half naked and his sweats reek of dried sweat and sleep.

“Long time no see, big guy,” she says, intently studying his face. “Of course, you still look great, no matter how long it’s been.” Erica does look fucking fabulous, with a tight royal blue corseted top on showing off her assets, as well as a tight mini skirt and the patented leather jacket. Her lipstick is fire-engine red.

Derek quirks his lips and then turns and faces Stiles, who has his head bowed and is discreetly turned away, so as to not look like he’s eavesdropping. “Can you make some coffee? Oh, and put out some of the biscuits in the red packet out as well.” Stiles nods and scurries off, bare feet moving silently across the carpet.

“You kept some of my favourite biscuits for me?” Erica smiles and laughs again. “I’ll wait for you to get dressed downstairs. Can't say no to coffee!” 

Derek wasn’t expecting Erica at all today, but he’s real glad she’s come. 

He quickly splashes water on his face and then pulls on a pair of jeans and a henley, clean so Erica doesn’t wrinkle her nose at him distastefully.

By the time he’s gotten downstairs; Erica has already eaten about ten of the biscuits, and is munching on another. The steaming coffee is more creamer than coffee, and Derek just knows that there is enough sugar in there to drown a horse. Good thing Erica is a werewolf then. Stiles is nowhere to be seen, and Derek is happy with that, because it means he can have some private time with his beta. 

They both sit at the breakfast bar Derek has, sipping on their coffees whilst Erica chatters on about Boyd and how he’s doing. Derek is listening, he’s happy that Erica is here, and that she is happy too. He can smell that she’s anxious about something, but he pushes it away, because the smell of happiness is far more prominent in her scent than any other negative emotion. Finally Erica sets down her cup of coffee and sighs dramatically.

“Derek, I’ve been trying to get you to notice for about ten minutes now, are you blind?”

What.

“What?” He says, completely confused. 

“I was holding my coffee in my other hand, hoping you would notice, but apparently not.” She seems to wrestle with herself for a moment before pushing her left hand out and squealing, “Boyd proposed to me!”

Now that Derek’s looking, he can see the ring sitting on her finger, with either a garnet or ruby or other red jewel shining up at him. 

“It’s beautiful Erica.” He says, totally sincerely, and he means it because it’s true. The ring is exactly what Erica is like, and it suits her perfectly. “When’s the big day?” 

Erica blushes and looks away, unnaturally coy. 

“Well…” Erica trails off, as if she wants to say something but she can't, and this is so unlike the Erica that speaks her mind all the time that he doesn’t really know what to do. 

“What is it?” he asks voice full of concern, because he wants to know what is wrong. 

“I was hoping in the next three months or so?” 

“Why so soon?” It seems a bit rushed to Derek, they’re spending the rest of their lives together, why rush into it?

Erica looks uncomfortable for a moment. 

Then he gets it. “You’re pregnant?” 

Erica mock gasps and slaps him on the arm jokingly. “You were supposed to wait and let me tell you! Derek! Stop ruining my surprises!” 

Derek chuckles, before standing up and letting the blonde woman hug him tightly. 

“So I’m assuming you want to get married before you have your child?” He says, and she nods.

“Plus,” she adds, beatific smile gracing her features. “He’s the love of my life. He’s my mate. I love him whole-heartedly, wolf and woman. Why would I want to wait?” Derek can see that she’s got a point there.

“So I’m going to go for a spring wedding, either March or April before I start showing too much. I was thinking the church about fifteen minutes away from here? You know the one with the cute rose bushes?” 

Derek almost can’t speak, only two years ago he met this painfully shy, stuttering girl, and helped her out the only way he could. Now she’s this bright bubbly woman with a whole future and family ahead of her. God, they were finally going to have another child in the Hale pack again. 

“One last thing.” She says, cramming another biscuit into her mouth and taking another gulp of overly sweet coffee. “Will you give me away?”

Derek looks at her in surprise. “Give… you away?”

“Yes!” She answers him impatiently. “Give me away! You know, the thing that fathers usually do but I don’t talk to my family so I want you to do it instead, that thing? Will you do it?”

“Yes. Of course I will. I’ll do whatever you want.” He replies and Erica beams.

“Great!” 

They finish off their coffees and then Erica says she has to make a move, as she wants to start booking all the venues and start all the wedding plans. 

Before she leaves though, she asks him if he’s going to the ball next week, to which he replies he doesn’t know yet. 

She then says, “What’s with the slave, Derek? I thought you didn’t want one in the house.”

Derek grimaces. “It was a gift from Peter for my birthday- thanks for your present by the way,” he adds, remembering that she had given him an extremely useful kindle, so that he can read whenever he wants. “I can't give him back until the six month trial period is up in April, plus he makes good food.” God, he does.

Erica accepts it before leaning in and saying quietly, “He seems a little jittery. Are you treating him okay? I don’t want to presume anything but when I knocked on the door I could hear his heartbeat rise so quickly.” 

“I don’t really see him,” Derek says truthfully, “I only see him when he makes food or I’m out of my study. I think he’s settling in okay, though he sure likes to clean. He has his own room and everything, so I think he’s okay. Maybe he just doesn’t like loud noises?”

Erica accepts it, and smiles happily again. 

“Congratulations again!” He calls while Erica walks out of the house and she laughs and waves back at him. 

“See you next week Derek, I wouldn’t want you to miss it!”

As soon as Erica drives off and Derek has shut the front door he stretches and makes his way back to his gym. He feels like letting off some steam after all the bombshells today.


	3. Chapter 3

Inspiration for Stiles' suit is [here](http://www.fangirlish.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/12/Dylan-OBrien-15.jpg), and Derek's is [here](http://www1.pictures.zimbio.com/gi/Tyler%2BHoechlin%2BPremiere%2BWarner%2BBros%2BHall%2BPass%2BEOpZ9lC5W5Ll.jpg). 

 

 

One morning, soon after Stiles arrives at Master’s house, he wakes up feeling cold, tired, and above all, dizzy.

As soon as he crawls out of his cage and stands up, he’s hit with the undeniable feeling that he needs to faint.

At first Stiles hopes it’s head rush, but as he prepares the kitchen and starts to make Master his breakfast, the disorientating feeling doesn’t shift. What makes the day even stranger is that Master seeks him out, instead of just stumbling down the stairs when he smelt food. 

“Stiles.” Master says, and Stiles pauses in where he had been concentrating on cutting each slice of bread as straight as possible. He turns as soon as he hears Master’s voice and bows his head respectfully. He doesn’t want to anger Master by seeming impolite.

“Yes, Master?” Stiles says, head still facing downwards. He takes a moment to breathe in deeply, he still feels like he’s going to fall any moment, and he doesn’t want it to happen in front of Master.

“Can you… Actually wait, can you please stop calling me Master? It’s really irritating. Call me Derek instead.”

Stiles nods his head lightly. “Of course Derek.” He replies, putting just as much respect into Derek’s name as he would Master. He doesn’t want Ma- Derek to be annoyed at him.

“Anyway, there is a ball tonight, and I need a suit to wear to it, as you do also. As you are my… slave, I’ll have to purchase a collar for you. Will you come into the city with me and get the things I need?” The man grimaces at the prospect of having to socialise.

“Yes Derek, of course Derek, I’ll serve you breakfast first and I will be ready to go.”

Derek sits at the breakfast bar, hot coffee in one hand, and studying Stiles as he cooks. Stiles prepares everything as neatly as possible, before serving the food to Derek. He goes to sit on the floor next to Derek, but the man holds his hand out and Stiles freezes.

“On a chair Stiles, I’ve told you how much I hate you on the floor like a dog.” Stiles gets a brief flashback of one of his previous owners, who put puppy paws on Stiles’ hands and made him eat from a food bowl on the floor.

He slowly stands upright and takes a seat next to Derek. Like before, Derek holds out a slice of toast, and Stiles looks at it confusedly before taking it. He eats it at a snails pace, savouring it as much as possible.

“Thank you Derek.” He says sincerely, when he’s finished off the meal. His stomach is still protesting but he can ignore it a little better now. The darkness in his head has cleared a little too, thankfully.

Derek goes upstairs to grab his keys and wallet, whilst Stiles waits patiently by the door. He has the collar on that he had on when Peter bought him, and when Derek comes back down the stairs his eyebrows raise.

“I’m sorry Derek, Master, I haven’t worn it inside the house and I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to, please forgive me?” Stiles says as soon as he sees Derek’s face. He’s about to get down on his knees and grovel until Derek sighs and says, “It doesn’t matter. I prefer it off anyway.” That relaxes Stiles a little.

They make their way to the garage, which holds a sleek black car inside. The car has four seats, but the ones in the back are so small they’re practically useless anyway. Stiles sits in the front with his owner. It’s the first time he’s been out of a house besides the trip from Peter’s in over two months.

Derek drives past the mall completely, finally stopping at a smaller shopping complex that seems a lot more posh than the other one. It occurs to Stiles that Derek is a very rich person. As they make their way inside Stiles sees brands of names that look expensive; Gucci, Dolce, Hugo. He doesn’t know who any of them are, but they all look like each piece of clothing is probably more than he’s worth himself.

Derek steers Stiles into one shop after another, ignoring the looks of those working in the shops when they see Stiles trailing him in his dirty raggedy outfit and metal collar. When the assistants try to stop Derek from getting Stiles to try on outfits he growls at them and they shrink back.

It’s when they are in another shop, with Derek looking at a pair of charcoal grey trousers that Stiles sees it. A woman walks up to them, perfectly coiffed and made up.

“Sir,” she says politely and delicately. “Do you mind if we ask your slave to wait outside the shop? We are getting some complaints from other customers…” she trails off when Derek turns to her and flashes his eyes red. Stiles gasps a little inside, flinching backwards instinctively. Not only has he been a slave to a Were for the last week, but he’s been in the control of an Alpha. This is not good at all.

“Alpha Hale,” the woman stutters, looking as in shock as Stiles feels. Her eyes flicker gold for a second in response to Derek’s outburst. “I am so sorry for the inconvenience, please ignore my past statement. Would you like any help?” 

Derek stares at the woman a little while longer before grunting. “Get clothes for him, the best ones you have. Nicest quality collar too.”

It’s amazing to watch how quickly Derek says the words and how quickly Stiles is fitted in the most luxurious suit possible.

The shirt is a dark grey-blue, but the vest is a vibrant scarlet red, as well as the jacket and trousers. Stiles’ new collar is soft black leather, so nice that Stiles doesn’t even mind wearing it. It’s a far cry from one of his previous collars, which was a frayed, itchy length of rope. That collar had rubbed his neck so much that he still had a slight scar from it.

Derek is also outfitted for a suit, and came out wearing the exact same as Stiles yet his suit is all black save for the shirt which was a brilliant white. Around him, those trying to assist him are tripping over themselves. Stiles just wants to cry a little. All his previous Masters were betas, golden and blue eyed, but he had heard about the undying ferocity of the Alphas from other slaves. God, and Derek will go into heat once a year also, and he will probably get Stiles to service him whilst he is under. Stiles is never going to survive this. The bright lights are giving him a headache, on top of the vague dizziness he has been feeling all morning, and he just wants to curl up, on one of Derek’s rich couches for once instead of his cage, and sleep. Stiles just wants to be warm and to sleep for days.

He winced at the amount charged to Derek’s card; more money than Stiles had ever been near in his life. Most Weres were quite wealthy, as they were the dominant party in society and in power in government for the last eighty years and counting, but Derek didn’t even flinch as he passed over his card. Stiles got the impression that not only was Derek powerful, an Alpha and well known, but he was also exceedingly wealthy. It made Stiles wonders why he spends so much time alone in his house. But Stiles should not question his Masters needs, and so he just stayed quiet and said very little.

Armed with new clothes, the two of them make their way to a small shop at the very end of the mall. It’s a supermarket, but from what Stiles can see it only sources the finest cuts of meat and the best organic vegetables.

“Get what you need,” Derek says beside him and Stiles looks up at his master in confusion, before slamming his head back down. Idiot, he’s not allowed to look his Master right in the face, or he might take it offensively.

“What do you mean Derek?” He asks carefully, not entirely sure what Master is asking of him.

“I hate shopping. You shop for me. I want lots of meat.”

Stiles has never done such a menial task for his Master, and he finds it refreshing walking around searching for food. He puts bacon, sausages and such so that he can make Master a hearty breakfast each morning, before looking at all the vegetables the shop has to offer. He always shows them to Derek for approval before he puts them into the basket, (Derek says no to Swede, Parsnips and weirdly enough, Sweet corn. He later mutters that he hates how it gets in his teeth, which Stiles finds oddly cute. If it weren’t for the fact that Derek’s teeth can rip his throat out).  

Just like Master asked, Stiles also puts different high quality cuts of steak, pork and lamb into the trolley, taking care to only get red meats as he knows that Weres prefer red meats as it reminds them of hunts and flesh. Stiles shudders.

The total of the shopping trip for food comes to over twice what Stiles was bought for by Peter, and he feels vaguely upset that he is less important to the world than a packet of lamb cutlets. Still, Stiles knows what he is worth really, and that is nothing.

The two of them drive home in silence.

When they get in, Derek curtly informs him that he wishes to eat before they leave, and that Stiles must be dressed in the suit by half past seven at the latest. He also says that he wishes to have the steak Stiles bought for dinner, before he disappears up to his room.

It is just after two o’clock and so Stiles sets about to start putting everything away before he makes his master dinner. The dizziness doesn’t fade at all.

 

 

***

 

 

Derek sighs, staring into the mirror at his own reflection. The suit fits him perfectly, as it should, yet he can’t quite seem to shake the uncomfortable feeling of wearing formal clothing. His reflection looks tired, and frustrated, and it’s an accurate portrayal of how Derek’s feeling right now. He knows that as the Alpha of the surrounding territory he’s going to have to make a speech tonight, but perhaps he can fake being ill and leave early. And, of course, there’s the issue that he has to take Stiles with him, otherwise Peter will be upset that he doesn’t bring the slave. Peter has probably already gone on about Stiles to his harem already, and if Derek doesn’t show up with Stiles, they’ll all be disappointed too.

He sighs again, adjusts his bow tie and his hair again, even though it looks okay, he guesses, before shutting the door to his room and walking down the stairs, fiddling with his cufflinks as he goes. When he reaches the bottom of the stair case beside the front door, he finds Stiles already dressed in his finery, completely motionless.

God, Derek wishes that he didn’t have to go out tonight.

He grabs his keys and phone from the table by the door, before motioning for Stiles to follow him into the garage.

Whilst Peter has been pushing for Derek to buy a new car, ‘you’re rich enough, after all, for a Porsche’, Derek loves his Camaro. Bought by his sister before she died, it’s the only real connection Derek has to Laura, besides the faint smell that still permeates one of the empty bedrooms in the house. Stiles gets in quietly and without fuss, and Derek puts the car into gear.

The city hall is already filled with people, but Derek is allowed to be fashionably late. Around him, attendant’s noses flare as they recognise the smell of an Alpha, before bowing deeply and opening the door to him. Derek passes his keys off, and walks into the hall, Stiles following close behind him.

The people inside are dressed in their finest clothes; silk, furs, and lace in abundance. The men look sharply dressed also, Derek and Stiles not looking out of place a little.

As they both walk through the door, the chattering and dancing stops, music quietening down, as the crowd waits for their Alpha to speak. It is no small secret that Derek has been a recluse since the fire that almost destroyed the whole of the Hale dynasty. Derek doesn’t usually even come to functions like these, though he should, and he is only here now because it is the last Ball of the year, and it is expected of him to come. The people are also craning to look at Stiles, who is standing behind him with his head bowed, collar in stark relief to the pale skin of his neck.

“Greetings everyone,” Derek says, and as one, everyone drops their head in submission to his voice. Although most are not part of his pack, as Alpha of the state figurehead of Beacon Hills and the surrounding cities, they are indebted to him. Of course, Derek really is just a figurehead, as Peter does all of the work for him.

“Thank you for coming to the Winter Solstice Ball this year. As I am sure you will agree, this year has been a fine one, and I hope for next year to be equally as good” –lies, all lies, Derek has done nothing this year at all- “Please, celebrate and enjoy yourselves!”

The crowd cheers and the music starts up again, lively and happy. Beside him Stiles has managed to procure a flute of champagne from somewhere, which he offers to Derek who downs it in one gulp. God, he hates public speaking, and that speech wasn’t even long. Thank Christ the drink was wolfsbane laced.

Derek is soon surrounded by people, women sporting glittery jewellery and tottering in high heels and the men wearing suits and brightly polished shoes. All of them ask him how he is doing, and what has been happening in his life, (questions that he answers as politely and vaguely as possible) before they move onto Stiles beside him, going on about how cute he is and how Derek got such a lovely gift from his uncle, didn’t he?

Stiles takes it in good stead, standing there silently, and only speaking when told to speak. He is quiet but doesn’t say anything untoward, and Derek is quite proud of the boy considering he gave him absolutely no direction whatsoever.

To be honest, all Derek really wants to do is go home and drink enough scotch that his eyes go fuzzy.

 

 

***

 

Stiles berates himself as he gets passed along by strangers, each of them touching his hair, face, a sneaky couple of women grabbing handfuls of his ass and squeezing. It doesn’t bother him that much, because he’s trying all he can to stay upright.

The music is loud and fast, adding to the headache until his whole head is pounding without any sign of it letting up soon. The dizziness is still there, and everything seems slightly fuzzy, like Stiles is permanently looking through a pair of badly scratched glasses. But still, he deals with it, because he is a slave, and slaves are not meant to make a fuss.

The air is thick now, with the scent of perfume and hot from the hundreds of bodies dancing around him. Stiles catches himself swaying a little and pulls himself upright, so that his back is rigid and his knees are locked. He takes a deep breath to steady himself, and when he looks up again, he freezes in place.

There, coming towards him and Master, with a smirk on his face and a glass in one had is Peter.

Just looking at him gives Stiles flashes of memories that he really didn’t want, Peter hooking Stiles up until his hands turned purple, hitting him with a cane over and over until his skin bruised and burnt, but never enough to scar, sliding red hot needles under his fingernails-

Stiles can’t do this anymore. He wishes he were stronger, because he should be stronger, his Master is an Alpha and he must act like an Alpha’s slave, but he just can’t hold on any longer.

Derek turns to him, as if to ask him something, mouth open.

Derek’s face is the last thing Stiles sees partly in focus before the whole room tilts on its axis sickeningly and all Stiles can think of is the pain to come.

The room swirls one more time, and in the distance he can hear the faint sound of music and a voice calling to him. For one second, Stiles thinks he can hear his father, and he tries to reply, but he can’t feel his mouth or any part of his body anymore.

Everything goes dark, and then Stiles is gone.


	4. Chapter 4

There are a couple of instances here where a character vomits but it is not at all described in detail. I just thought you might like to know. 

 

When Derek spots his uncle coming towards him, he feels a big weight off of his shoulders. Once Derek has talked to his uncle he can fake illness and leave. Last year, Derek was gone before nine, and he hopes to beat his record this year. As Peter spots Stiles, his smile widens and he walks forward with even more purpose than before.

“How’s the boy been?” Peter asks conversationally, once he has moved in range of Derek’s hearing. Derek decides to humour his uncle.

“He’s been great,” Derek replies, tight smile stretching his lips. “Does all the cooking, the cleaning… he even manages to cook steak just the way I like it. Don’t you Stiles?”

He turns to face Stiles, as the boy has been one step behind him the whole time, and catches Stiles’ look of absolute terror before his eyes roll back into his skull and he drops to the floor in a dead faint.

Stiles?

Stiles! Derek stares at his slave in absolute horror before he lunges towards the boy, trying to catch him before he hits his head on the ground, but even with his enhanced powers he is too late. The boy’s head smacks on the polished floor with a loud “crack!” and around him, all the people there go silent. 

“Stiles!” Derek shouts, shaking the boy lightly trying to wake him up. “Stiles please!” 

It’s only now that Derek is focusing fully on the boy that he realises how ill he looks. Stiles is deathly pale, and an unhealthy sheen of sweat is slicking his skin. Even though the hall is warm from all the Weres around him, Stiles’ temperature is far, far too high for a human, though his skin is clammy. The boy is shaking a little, but he still remains completely unconscious. Derek can’t do anything, other than kneel on the floor, with the boy’s body in his arms and stare in dismay. How did he miss this?

Around him, people are yelling, but Derek tunes them out so he can hear the sound of Stiles’ heart. Even that is too fast, irregular.

A hand on his shoulder causes Derek to jump and focus in on his uncle’s voice. 

“Oh dear,” Peter says, but it doesn’t sound very sympathetic at all. “Looks like he wasn’t such a bargain after all. I’m so sorry Derek; I’ll get you a better present next year.” 

Peter’s hand pats his shoulder twice, and then the man moves off, slaves silently following behind him. 

 Derek stays still, with the boy in his arms and doesn’t move until the human paramedics come and physically remove him from the boy. 

As soon as Stiles is gone, everything speeds up again. Around him, people are staring at him on the floor and talking openly about him. This is the first bit of gossip they’ve had about the Alpha in months, years even.

Derek leaps to his feet and runs up the stairs and out the ornate front doors, ignoring the attendants outside. He realises then that he doesn’t have his car keys and growls at one of the stewards to fetch his car for him, and fast. The young man flashes his eyes back at Derek in submission, before hurrying off and retrieving Derek’s car in record time. As soon as the attendant is out of the car Derek hops inside and drives off, towards the hospital.

Derek doesn’t know why he feels like this over a slave. He has only known the boy for a little while, and besides Stiles cooking for him at every meal, they have barely interacted. He sighs, shifting his hands on the wheel restlessly and pressing down harder on the accelerator with his foot. He thinks it’s because he legally owns Stiles, the boy is not only under his control, but under his protection. He’s supposed to be looking after him! Sure, he doesn’t want Stiles, but he has to look after him for at least another two months. God, this is just another thing he has failed at. 

Derek is slowly but surely coming to the conclusion that he fails at everything he tries.

He parks precariously in the hospital car park, throws a couple of coins at the meter, and takes off into the building. When he gets there, the woman on the front in reception tells him that the person Derek is looking for is upstairs. It takes Derek roughly ten minutes to find Stiles’ room, due to him getting lost twice as he has never really spent time in the human hospital before, and barges in. 

Stiles has a nurse looking over him, a pretty dark haired human. He’s already connected up to a heart rate monitor, and an IV is pumping fluids into his arm. He looks so pale, a waxy white colour not dissimilar to the bed sheets covering him, and his breathing is fast and uneven. 

Derek breathes out a sigh of relief and slumps down, holding onto the door for support.

The woman looks up sharply at the noise. The tag on her scrubs says she is called Melissa. She smells of Were, but Derek can tell that she isn’t one herself. She must have an owner then. “Who are you?” She says, moving round the bed to protect Stiles instinctively. “Only family and owners are allowed in here so can you please-”

Derek coughs uncomfortably. “I am his owner.” He says, moving so that he is actually in the room and not hovering by the door awkwardly. 

The woman winces, before returning to what she was doing beforehand. 

Derek slowly edges closer. “Can you tell me what’s happening?” 

Melissa looks wary, but flips a chart to have a look anyway. 

“To put it bluntly, if this had carried on much longer, your slave would be dead.” Melissa says, staring at Derek intensely. For a human, Melissa is surprisingly bold. She must be a freedwoman, or she would never have the gall to look a Were in the eye. 

“Sleep deprivation, starvation, malnutrition and dehydration have caused a severe electrolyte imbalance and if he had come in less than two weeks from now, he would probably have severe kidney failure and there would have been a major chance that he would have died. What has happened is that due to not eating, sleeping or drinking enough and overworking himself, his immune system has been compromised, and he has contracted Pneumonia, which then worsened. The dizziness shown by the fainting, his high temperature and fast heartbeat all point to septicaemia. We have him on an IV of nutrients that his body is severely lacking, as well as high dose antibiotics to combat the severe infection. All in all, this boy is very sick.”

Derek thinks his legs are going to give way, so he holds his hands out, and miraculously manages to find a chair to sit in. his hands are shaking and he clenches them tight. He can’t even speak.

“As the owner, you do realise you have to take responsibility for this, Mr…”

“Hale.” He mutters faintly. He hears the intake of breath from the woman but chooses to ignore it.

“Mr Hale. This kind of malnutrition just doesn’t happen overnight. In fact, a case like this can go to the courts, as by the Slavery Act of 2007, this counts as abuse to a minor. Tell me, what does he eat and drink usually? Where do you let him sleep? Remember the Slave food given out in the supermarkets is only meant as a supplement, and shouldn’t substitute more than one meal a day.”

Derek shakes his head, trying to ignore the buzzing of guilt in his mind. “He sleeps in the spare bedroom I think, at least I told him to, and he eats, I know he does, I’ve-”

Derek stops short. Besides a couple of slices of toast, Derek has never seen Stiles eat. Whenever Stiles makes food, he always only makes it for one. Has Stiles been too scared to eat? Has Derek intimidated him that much?

“Oh my god.” He says out loud. “I’ve never seen him eat. Or drink. I just assumed he was taking what he wanted. Why wouldn’t he just take what he needed? I didn’t want to pressure him so I let him do as he wished.”

 Melissa’s eyes soften, and she crosses around the bed to Derek’s side. 

“What you need to understand Mr Hale, is that this boy has been a slave for most of his life, I would think.” She says kindly. She points at Stiles suddenly, who is just as motionless as he was when Derek arrived. His heartbeat and breathing are still all wrong. “Haven’t you seen the scars? It is obvious that he has been through some pretty hard times, even with the Slavery Act in place. How long have you had him?”

“A week. He was a birthday present from my uncle.” He replies, thinking hard. The nurse said that Stiles had to have been this way for a while now. Could it be that he told Stiles to act this way?

“In which case, being put on trial may not be applicable in this case, since you have not had him long. I assume you are in the six month return policy still?”

Derek nods. Peter had said he had four months left, meaning he had had Stiles for about two months before Peter gave him to him. 

A cool palm touches his, and Derek looks up into gentle brown eyes.

“I’m sorry I can’t help more, Mr Hale, but I or some of my colleagues will return periodically to check up on him- what is his name?”

“Stiles. His name is Stiles.” 

“I will come to check up on Stiles then. Technically, it isn’t visiting hours right now, but as I’m pulling a double, I’ll be on shift until ten tomorrow, and I will let you stay in here. But please, in future, look after those who are in your control.”

Derek nods, that’s putting it lightly. 

Melissa has one last run through of all the machines connected up to Stiles, before leaving Derek and shutting the door quietly behind her. The room is mostly dark except for a lamp on the bedside table next to Stiles’ bed. It’s quiet too, save for the beeps and whirrs of the various pieces of equipment.

Even though Derek doesn’t feel worthy enough, he needs something to anchor him, anchor the wolf that is prowling restlessly inside of him, and he reaches for Stiles’ hand that sits on top of the sheets next to him. He holds it carefully, mindful of the monitor attached to the end of Stiles’ finger.

He sits there all night, watching Stiles’ face, and Derek breathes.

 

 

***

 

The first thing Stiles hears is a kind of rushing noise, like wind through a narrow pass, or a waterfall. He then becomes aware that he is standing in a room, brightly lit, and completely blindingly white in colour. He is alone.

Then, he’s not. He turns around to find his parents, both his mother and his father standing there smiling at him. Stiles can’t move for a second, can’t even breathe, before he rushes at his parents. His dad catches him up in a hug, twirling him round like he used to when they were still together. 

“My son,” John says into the neck of his only child. “I’ve missed you.” Stiles clutches tighter, and mutters back that he missed him too.

Stiles then goes to hug his mother, fuck, she still looks as beautiful as ever, but when he tries to touch her, his hand passes through her body, as if Claudia is just an illusion.

“My little Przemysław,” his mother says looking sadly at him. She raises her arm, as if to stroke Stiles on the cheek, but stops just inches away from his face. “I am so sorry. I am no longer in this world.” 

It takes a moment to click, and then his lungs feel too tight and his dad has to keep a hold on his shoulders just to keep him upright. “Mom, no, you can’t be dead, I was going to find you and free you so we could all live together again-”

“Przemysław,” his mother interrupts smoothly. “It’s okay. It was going to happen some day. You just live as happily as you can, and one day you will be reunited with me and your father once again. I miss you, my little Księżyc.”

At the term of endearment, Stiles cannot swallow the hard lump in his throat anymore; and he feels tears sliding down his face. 

“I love you mama,” He chokes out, “and you too papa. I think about you all the time.”

His dad hugs him again, tightly to his chest. “I will find you again, Stiles.” He says. And Stiles nods in agreement.

Then, the two of them turn back to Claudia. She is shining brightly, as bright as the full moon she nicknamed Stiles after, and she smiles at the two of them. “We cannot stay here much longer,” she says, gesturing around the brightly lit room. “You both have people you must return to. All you must know is that I love you; think of you always, and that I eagerly await your return. But not too soon!” she adds, mock scolding them both. Stiles turns to his father and sees that he too, is smiling through tears.

“Now go! Wake up!” she says, making shooing motions with her hands. The family look around at each other one last time, before the room starts to dim. 

“Think on this Przemysław, my angel, my moon,” Claudia says, just as she is beginning to fade out of sight. “Not all Weres are bad. Some of them closest to you do not mean you any harm.”

And then, she is gone, and Stiles wakes up.  

His head pounds, throat feels tight and dry. He hears distantly the sound of various machines beeping, but he doesn’t pay them much attention. All of his efforts are currently focused on getting his eyelids to open, which feel so heavy and stuck together he feels he should get an award for finally blinking awake. 

Everything is slightly blurry, as if he has been awake for a while, but he can make out that he is in a hospital room, and that there is a figure in the chair next to him.

Stiles blinks again, focuses and realises that the dark haired man sleeping next to him is Master. 

He’s in a bed, sleeping, whilst his master is staying next to him uncomfortably. And god, the hospital bills!

He sits up immediately, making the machines around him go crazy. Derek next to him gets woken up by the sound- Stiles can see from the way he jerks awake. A sudden wooziness surrounds Stiles all of a sudden, as well as an abrupt and unexpected need to vomit. 

Stiles gropes around for a second and Derek immediately seems to know what he needs, coming back with a cardboard bowl that Stiles throws up into. 

It’s mainly bile, but Stiles feels a little better afterwards, albeit exhausted, and he slumps back down into the pillows. As Derek is throwing away the now used cardboard into the trash, the door opens, and a woman rushes in. 

Ma- Derek growls for a moment, until he sees who it is and quietens down. Stiles doesn’t really know how to take that.

“Hi there Stiles,” the woman says warmly, and he wonders how she knows his name. “I’m Melissa, your nurse, and I’ve been looking after you since you arrived here. How are you feeling?”

Stiles stares at her for a little while. Does he lie and say he’s fine? Because that’s what he knows he should do, what he has been trained to do. But then he also might be punished for lying. 

“I’m okay,” he goes for, settling between the two. “I feel dizzy though.” 

Derek uncurls his arms and steps forward from where he’s been hanging in the corner.

“He still has a fever, and his heartbeat is too high. He’s not fine.” Stiles jerks in shock.

Melissa smiles and bobs her head, moving round the bed to check up Stiles’ vitals being read out on the screen. She then makes a couple of adjustments before turning back to Derek.

“Mr Hale, could you be so kind as to fetch some water for Stiles? I’m sure that he wants some to get the bad taste out of his mouth.”

Derek nods and immediately leaves the room shutting the door behind him.

Melissa cocks her head and waits for a little while before she starts speaking.

“Honey, are you okay? Really? You’ve been under extreme stress the past couple of months, that much is clear, but I just wanted to know if he isn’t mistreating you or denying you what you should have…”

Stiles shakes his head frantically. “No, Mas- Derek has been very kind to me, he leaves me alone to do my chores and he lets me sleep when I want. This illness is all my fault, I’m sorry.”

Melissa frowns, before sitting in the chair that Derek was in beforehand. “You can’t blame getting an illness on yourself, Stiles, you can’t help it. What worries me though is that you are dangerously underweight and severely dehydrated for someone who is living with such a wealthy person. Tell me, what does Derek usually give you to eat?”

Stiles shrugs with one shoulder. “He doesn’t, feed me that is. I make him meals and then I eat by myself. I always have one cup of slave kibble a day and one glass of water, just like I’m supposed to.” His eyes widen as Melissa looks at him in shock. “I promise I don’t have any more than that a day, miss! I try to be good, I try to be perfect. I never eat any of Master’s meals either, unless he feeds me himself. And I always sleep in my cage in the basement, where I’m supposed to, I promise!”

Melissa looks faintly ill for a moment, and Stiles can’t imagine why. Has he done something wrong? Is he not doing the right thing like he thought he was? God, all this thinking is so hard when his head feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton wool. 

She stands back up again, and fiddles with the IV pumping fluids into his arm. 

“Thank you, Stiles, for telling me that. What you need to do now is rest, okay? You are allowed to sleep. I’ve added a little sedative to help you rest.”

Already, Stiles can feel his lids slipping down, and the cloudiness inside his head increasing. “Wow, that works fast.” he mumbles, shifting down until he’s in a more comfortable position.

For a moment, everything goes a little wacky, and Stiles thinks he can see his mom, hear her telling him to go to sleep, and drowsily he mutters, “thanks mom,” before the darkness pulls him back under again. This time, he goes willingly.

 

 

***

 

When Derek makes his way back into the hospital room clutching a jug of water, he is confronted by a very angry woman. He manages to shove the water away from him safely, before she is upon him.

“Have you any idea what he’s been doing to himself? What you have been doing to him? Are you entirely stupid?” She hisses, pushing him in anger.

For a moment, his wolf snarls at the lack of submission from the human in front of him, and he can feel his claws start to lengthen. Then, what she says finally clicks, and the wolf quietens down inside of him.

“What is it?” He asks wildly. What has he done now? “What’s wrong? Has something happened?”

“Yes something has happened! Something has been happening to your slave” – she spits the word out as if it is a curse- “for a long time now! Did you know?” She says, walking towards him, finger outstretched. Derek vaguely thinks that she must have children, because no way can someone look that authoritative and make Derek feel so tiny without some prior experience. She looks exactly like his mom did when she used to tell him off.

“Did you know that this boy has been starving himself for months, just because he thinks that is what he has to do? I’m surprised he hasn’t dropped sooner; he’s been living on less than two hundred calories a day by my estimation! And don’t even get me started on where he sleeps…” Melissa throws up her hands in the air with exasperation.

Derek is just confused. This doesn’t make sense. “But Stiles sleeps in one of the guest rooms upstairs, I told him to. And he always makes me dinner; I thought he made himself a portion too. How-“

“He’s been living on less than one portion of Kibble a day Derek, he told me. And that definitely coincides with how dangerously underweight he is. A boy like him should be 150 pounds absolute minimum, and I doubt he’s even pushing a hundred. He told me he sleeps in your basement. What kind of sick fuck are you?”

It hits him right in the stomach, like he’s been roundhouse kicked multiple times in the same place, and for a moment it’s impossible for him to breathe.  

“I didn’t know,” he gasps, fighting the need to run. “I promise you, I had no idea. I just left him alone and thought that was what he wanted, I’m so sorry. Really. Fuck.” He slides down the wall a little, legs not seeming to work much. The wolf inside of him whines, and Derek can’t stop. It breaks free, just a little, and then Melissa is on the floor beside him, while he whimpers and his eyes flash in terror.

“It’s okay,” She soothes. “I can tell you're telling the truth. But god, you’ve got a lot of work to do to make things right.”

He knows that she is telling the truth, and the idea of actually helping for once is what makes him control himself again, and he looks back up at the woman with clear eyes.

“Anything,” he tells her. “I’ll do anything. What do I have to do?” 

She smiles, before holding her hand out to help him up off the floor. He accepts her hand and lifts himself up. “Well, first of all, you can go home and get yourself cleaned up, trust me, Stiles isn’t going to wake for a while. Then, you're going to buy Stiles some new clothes, freshen up his new room, and you're going to be the best damn owner I have ever seen, and trust me, my current owner is my son.”

Derek nods at everything. He’s fucked everything up before, Paige, his family, his whole life, but that doesn’t mean he can’t do some good at all. 

He can do this. 

He thanks Melissa profusely, who in return just laughs and tells him to take a nap, you’ve been here two days now Derek, get some sleep, and he looks over at the sleeping boy one last time. Stiles is still feverish, still dangerously unwell, but finally Derek has a purpose, and he’s going to do all he can to help. He can’t fuck up this time. 

Derek walks out of the room with a sense of direction that he hasn’t had in months. He gets in his car, goes home, but he doesn’t sleep, he’s too hyped up for that. 

Instead, what he does is he cleans out the room which Stiles is going to stay in, properly this time, dusting all of the surfaces. The room hasn’t been used in a long time, Derek doesn’t have many visitors. He then psyches himself up, and opens the door down into the basement. 

The cold air hits him immediately, and whilst he can withstand higher temperatures than humans, even he can tell that the air is freezing. He shudders. Making his way down the staircase, the only scent he can really find is Stiles’, backing up the claim that he sleeps down here. The bedroom upstairs didn’t smell of him at all, just dust and the faint after smell of Isaac, when he used to stay here. 

He reaches the end of the staircase, and the room snaps into a red focus when he flashes his eyes; it’s too dark for even him to see everything normally. He can’t imagine what it must be like for Stiles. Finding the light switch on the side, he flicks it on while returning his vision to normal, and whines at the sight.

When Melissa said Stiles slept in a cage, his imagination wouldn’t have come up with this.

The cage is tiny; Derek doubts he could fit in it. He bets Stiles can only fit inside due to the fact that he is so underweight. The only source of comfort in the cage is a little threadbare blanket, that looks like it’s been used continuously for twenty years and has worn thin so much it’s basically useless.

 Derek stares in horror at the sight before dashing upstairs on all fours and into the bathroom, where he vomits into the toilet basin, gasping out sobs. How the hell did he not notice this?

When he has finally composed himself, he makes his way back downstairs and rips all of the bars off the cage, turning it into a pile of junk. No human deserves to live like this. He then carries all of the pieces outside and dumps them in the trash. He keeps the blanket though, just in case it has some kind of significance for Stiles. Derek remembers how Cora used to carry her blanket around with her everywhere, long after she started elementary school even, because it made her feel safe. 

Only when he has destroyed everything that has caused Stiles pain in his house, does he finally feel like he’s making some progress.

 

 

***

 

 

Stiles flits in and out of consciousness for a while, and it all gets a little wacky. One second a nurse is rambling to him about her day and the next he’s alone. He tries to keep up with it all but in the end he just gives up and drifts.

When he wakes up properly again he aches everywhere, and his feet are freezing cold. Apart from that though, he feels a lot better, he doesn’t feel that dizzy at all and the need to vomit has passed. He glances next to him, and finds his master sitting in the chair, head in a book.

He shifts around, trying to ease the burn in his muscles from staying still for too long, and Master’s head snaps up. He looks better than the last time Stiles saw him, he’s shaved for one, leaving only well maintained stubble, and he looks like he’s actually got some sleep. Stiles is glad that Master isn’t wasting his energy on him, although he can’t understand why he’s still here. Stiles can’t even understand why he himself is still in the hospital; he doesn’t know exactly how long he has been in here but he figures it’s a while and the bills must be racking up.

“How are you Stiles? Are you feeling better? You look better, and you haven’t needed an oxygen mask for a couple of days now. The doctor says you might be able to go home tomorrow, how great is that?”

Stiles nods his head a little, but inside he’s screaming because if he goes back to the house that means back to work, back to sleeping in the cold, and he doesn’t know if he’s up for that yet. 

“Derek?” He asks timidly, stopping Master from talking. He knows he shouldn’t do it, but he really wants to know how long he’s been here. 

Master quietens. “What is it Stiles?” He asks softly, and Stiles is taken aback at the gentle tone o his voice. 

“How long have I been here?”  

Derek sighs, and taps the side of the bed with his finger. “Almost five days now. But it’s okay, as long as you’re getting better.”

The price it must be, god, no wonder Master wants him back home to start work again. 

But its okay, he has another day to get himself ready. And the bed isn’t that nice really, he keeps telling himself. He’ll be fine by tomorrow, he will. Stiles settles back on the bed, and listens to his Master talk. He doesn’t know what Master says, but his voice is soothing enough that Stiles doesn’t feel the need to cry. 

He’ll be okay. 


	5. Chapter 5

Howdy. My tumblr is [here](http://fuckyesstilesstilinski.tumblr.com/), and my amazing beta Lydia's tumblr is [here](http://iwouldlovetohave-thesex-withyou.tumblr.com/). Please note I have updated the tags as there are some references to torture and other unsavoury things in this chapter. There is nothing in detail though, I promise!

EDIT: the incredible [sher-lokied](http://sher-lokied.tumblr.com/), ([purgatorycitizen](http://archiveofourown.org/users/purgatorycitizen/pseuds/purgatorycitizen) on AO3) has made a gifset for this fic which you can see [here](http://fuckyesstilesstilinski.tumblr.com/post/77755195075/sher-lokied-excess-of-liberty-by-imthealphanow). I'm speechless, it's so good. I never expected this little fic to get any art, no matter how much I asked!

 

 

It’s another three days before Stiles is let out, mainly because Stiles stresses the entire time and causes the fever to come back slightly. It’s mostly fine, he just rolls around in the hospital bed for a while sweating profusely whilst Derek looks on, but it means that Stiles feels even worse when Derek receives the discharge papers and the promise of a heavy payment.

The two of them walk to the car, Derek holding tightly onto Stiles by the arm, because he still doesn’t feel one hundred percent, he’s barely pushing sixty, but he knows he has to go home now. To Master’s house.

The drive home is silent, Stiles fidgeting quietly in the passenger seat. His Master looks tired, and Stiles feels the whoosh of guilt inside of him that reminds him that it’s all his fault Master looks so exhausted.

Eventually, even Derek gets a little uncomfortable with the overwhelming quiet, and turns on the radio, which then quietly plays 80’s rock in the background. Stiles still doesn’t speak, he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to.

Up the long winding driveway, Stiles gets even more nervous, scared of what his Master will do now that they are alone and Stiles is no longer under the protection of the hospital.

Derek stops the car out the front of the house, not going as far as to put it back in the garage like he usually does, before he comes round the other side of the car and opens to door for Stiles. He holds out his hand to help Stiles out, but for a moment Stiles thinks that Master is going to hit him. He shrinks back, flinching, and Derek’s face turns into something indecipherable. Even though Stiles has gotten very good at predicting people’s emotions by their faces, he had to do it to live; of course, he still can’t understand what is going on in his Master’s head. If Stiles were to guess what the emotion was though, he’d call it guilt, but then again, he isn’t so sure.

Stiles feels bad anyway, so he slowly reaches out and takes hold of his Master’s hand, and uses it to swing himself upwards. As soon as he does, a wave of dizziness hits him again and he staggers backwards for a second until strong arms catch him and hold him still. They stay there until the wooziness has passed, and then he looks up. 

Derek is looking down on Stiles, as much as he can since they are almost the same height, with such a gentle look on his face that Stiles really doesn’t know what to do with himself for a second. He blinks, and the look is still there, and all he can do is just hang onto his Master whilst they make their way up the steps to the front of the house.

Inside, Derek lets go of Stiles, and shucks off his jacket, letting Stiles do the same. At the hospital Derek presented Stiles with a jacket and t-shirt, a pair of jeans and some shoes, and Stiles puts them on, but he doesn’t know if he will get to keep them. 

He stands in silence for a while, hitching from side to side, he doesn’t really know what to do. He considers dropping to the floor like he should but he still feels a little shaky and thinks that such a big movement will make him faint again.

Finally, Derek turns back around again, and slowly walks towards him, hands out to show that he isn’t going to hurt Stiles. He doesn’t really believe it, but he allows Derek to take him gently by the arm and pull him up the stairs.

It’s hard going. Halfway up the flight Stiles has to stop a moment and catch his breath, even though he’s only walked up ten steps and most of his weight is supported by his Master anyway, but the man allows Stiles to stop and get his bearings again before they continue up the stairs.

He has no idea where he’s going, he would have thought his Master would send him to the basement for being such an inconvenience, or into the kitchen to make him lunch, but he appears to be doing none of that.

They stop outside a spare bedroom, on the same hallway as Master’s, and Derek opens the door. It’s a little dusty, Stiles has neglected it since he has been in hospital, much like the rest of the house, and immediately he feels guilty again.

“I’m so sorry Master, I’ll clean it right now without delay and the rest of the house too of course, I’m so sorry Master, please forgive me,” he babbles, and Derek turns around from where he’s pulling Stiles through the doorway in utter surprise.

“I don’t want you to clean anything Stiles,” he replies, brow furrowed, and suddenly it’s Stiles’ turn to be confused. “You’ve just got out of hospital, you need to rest- the doctor said at least a week in bed… and you think I’m going to make you clean?” the end of the sentence is pitched higher in unhappiness, and Stiles cannot believe he’s done something wrong again. 

He starts to apologise once more, but Derek stops him in his tracks. “I know you have had owners before, ones who…” his Master searches for the word whilst looking like he’s smelt something bad. “Who have harmed you in ways that are wrong, but I want you to know that for all that I’ve let you down before; I refuse to do it again. I will not let you be hurt, and I will not let you get into the state you are right now ever again. I’m so sorry for allowing you to think that how you’ve been living is okay.”

Stiles is speechless. He doesn’t know what to say. Is his Master being serious? Is this all just a ploy to get him to relax before the torture begins?

He keeps himself as tense and alert as he can, because he knows that people can lie, especially when they want to appear nice.

“What are we doing up here then?” he asks instead, and Derek looks taken aback once more.

“This is your room Stiles, you’re going to rest and recuperate here, and you’re not going to help around the house until you’re ready to. You are my responsibility, and your life is worth more to me than just how good you are at cleaning the banisters. I’m sorry for making you feel that way before, I know I can be, well, difficult to live with.”

These sentences are more than Stiles has heard from the man, probably since he’s started living here, and Derek seems so sincere he hopes that it is all real. He lets himself get pulled towards to bed, and then his Master pulls open the covers for him.

He’s about to climb into bed, but Derek suddenly exclaims “What are you doing?” and then his instincts kick in and he’s on the floor, on his knees, just like he has been taught to. 

The room swims around him for a moment, until he feels big, warm hands anchoring him again. 

Hearing slowly returns to him, and he can hear Master making shhing noises in his ear, running his hands up and down Stiles’ arms in comfort.

When he thinks Stiles is okay again, he starts talking. “I’m so sorry Stiles; I didn’t mean to startle you. You don’t have to kneel onto the floor from now on; I promise I’m not going to hurt you. Really. It’s just you were getting into bed fully clothed and I thought you might like to wear pyjamas before you get cosy, is that okay?” 

The thought of a man over six foot tall who has major stubble and wears leather jackets, looking more like a biker than anything, saying the word “cosy” makes Stiles smirk a little, and Derek catches the expression.

“Hey, there we go: a little smile. That’s what I want to see.” Stiles turns his head towards Derek’s, who is still holding him close so their faces are only inches apart, and Stiles sees the warm look on his face, and he mirrors the smile Derek has.

“There we go. Do you think you can get up now so we can get you into bed where you should be?” For a moment, Stiles thinks that any kind of movement should be made illegal, although they are on the floor, Derek’s arms are warm and solid, and he’s actually quite comfortable, but he slowly nods his head and Derek slides his hands around Stiles’ waist and pulls him up.

The two of them walk back over to the bed, and Mas-Derek pushes him smoothly onto it, so he’s just sitting on the edge. Derek walks off until he’s in front of another door in the room, besides the one they just came through.

“While you were in hospital I realised that you really needed some new clothes, so I took the liberty of buying you some new ones so that you wouldn’t have to wear those shitty ones you came with.” With that, Derek opens the door to reveal a huge walk in closet, already half filled with clothes.

Unable to help himself, Stiles gets off the bed and walks into the closet, raising his hand as if to touch the fabric, but he’s not sure if he’s allowed to. God, everything looks so nice and soft and _warm._

“There’s still a lot of space in here, so some other time when you’re all better again I thought we could go out of town and look for some stuff that you really like, instead of what I thought you would like, and what I thought might fit you. They’re all yours; I’m not going to take them away from you.”

Stiles looks at him in total disbelief, before he turns back to the red hoodie he had been eyeing, and reaches out to touch it. It’s so soft and snug, a far cry from the clothing he’s had for so many years now.

“Thank you.” He says quietly, still not sure if this is real, or if Derek is just fucking with him, but Derek still smiles back at him warmly.

Looking though the clothes he finds a soft white t-shirt and a pair of drawstring pyjama pants that are made of a warm material, and he thanks Derek again. Derek just nods his head back at him, before helping him back into the bedroom. There’s an awkward moment as Stiles starts to undress right in front of his Master, who squeaks and turns around quickly, but finally Stiles is in bed, wrapped up warm.

The bed is the best thing he’s ever slept on, including the time before he was enslaved, and he wriggles delightedly. Derek chuckles a little, and tucks him in even more.

“The bathroom is through there, it has a shower as well that you can use if you want. I’m going to go now, so you can sleep, but I’ll be back in a while with some food.” 

Derek crosses the room, after pointing a third door out, to close the curtains, completely blocking the weak sun out, before coming back to the bed by Stiles’ feet.

“Is there anything you want right now?”

Stiles frowns. He’s all warm, and wrapped up, and for the first time in fuck knows how long he thinks he can actually relax properly and sleep well. “Like what?”

“I don’t know. Anything to eat, a drink, some water maybe?”

“No, no I think I’m okay,” Stiles says slowly. He can feel his eyelids getting heavier and heavier.

The next time Stiles wakes up, there’s a glass of water on the bedside table next to him, as well as an apple.

 

 

 

***

 

 

Derek fidgets around the house for a while after Stiles has fallen asleep. He wants do something, but he knows there is nothing he can do until Stiles has woken up. 

He keeps running all the words that Stiles said through his head, and his heart drops every time he remembers how Stiles flinched away from him, every time that he said something that shows how bad an owner he is. Derek has never really thought about human rights before, never been interested, but Stiles has made him question what America, what the world is really like in regards to the human population in the world.

Like Melissa the nurse said, Stiles had been like this for a very long time. Which meant Peter had to be involved in this somehow?

How long had Stiles been with Peter? If it had only been a week or two Derek could understand that perhaps it was an owner before, and Peter had only kept Stiles until his birthday. But any longer than that, he and Peter would have to talk.

It makes Derek feel vaguely sick for a moment. How could someone related to him, someone he had known since birth, do something like this? Peter was his uncle, and when his mother was alive, a person she relied on. He couldn’t have done this.

In that moment, for a very long time, Derek wishes he wasn’t alone. He tugs his cell phone out of his pocket and texts a number, someone he hasn’t heard from in a while.

The message back is immediate: _See you in half an hour. I was waiting for you to text._

Derek sighs with relief. He could have asked Erica and Boyd to come over, but he doesn’t really want to talk about the wedding, and Erica is much too lively for him right now, however much he loves her.

It’s actually closer to forty five minutes later when Derek hears a car pull up and footsteps at the door, but when he smells the bitter scent of coffee and the contrasting overly sugary smell of donuts, he can’t really find it in himself to care.

As soon as the door opens, he sees the familiar head of curls and tall muscled body, and he knows he made the right choice in asking him to come over.

“Hi Isaac,” he says, and the younger man quirks a smile and walks in though the door, shutting it behind him with his foot.

“Long time, no see, Alpha.” Isaac says in a laughing tone, as they walk into the kitchen and the coffees and donuts are placed on the breakfast bar. Whilst most people would call him Alpha as a sign of respect, Isaac just calls him it as a sign of friendship and camaraderie.

Derek doesn’t mind, Isaac was there for him for Paige, and for the death of his family. Having been friends since Derek was fourteen, after he noticed Isaac was having issues with his family, there are only two other people who Derek feels even half as close to Isaac.

“It’s only been three weeks Isaac, it isn’t really that long.” Derek says, before taking the cup with his name on it. It’s perfect, a mocha with extra cream and caramel because although Derek knows he can be bitter sometimes, he still appreciates the sweet stuff.

“I know Derek,” Isaac says fondly, reaching out for his own cup and smiling over the rim. Derek knows without even scenting the cup that it holds a vanilla spice latte, which is Isaac’s absolute favourite drink. “But I still miss you. I wish you would come out more.” This immediately makes Derek feel guilty, because he knows he’s not perfect, he knows it, but he wishes that he was and this sort of thing just makes him feel like even more of a failure.

“Hey,” Isaac says gently, “I didn’t mean it like that. You're not a bad Alpha Derek; I just want to see you more often. Okay?” Isaac had obviously scented Derek’s distress. Derek nods slightly, and the two of them relax. Derek goes for the raspberry jelly donut in front of him, whilst Isaac carefully picks out a ring donut covered in chocolate and rainbow sprinkles. They taste great, and Derek has to hold in the moan of approval.

“So,” Isaac says, changing the subject. “I heard from Erica that you’ve got yourself a new slave? And of course I saw you at the ball last week, what happened there Derek? Jesus, you left in such a hurry, and everyone thought that you had gone off to hurt someone for what happened! So tell me, what the hell?”

Derek sighs, and sets down his half eaten donut. He might as well start from the beginning. He trusts Isaac more than anything, he wouldn’t have given the bite to just anyone. And of course who receives the bite is so closely monitored that it takes six months for the paperwork to go through, so if you’re not absolutely sure, then you can break it off. Derek never thought twice about it though with his best friend.

“So, for my birthday two weeks ago, Peter had decided to get me a slave as a birthday present…”

Isaac listens patiently whilst Derek describes everything that has happened over the past two weeks, right up to Stiles fainting and Derek realising what he has done wrong.

“And I don’t really know what to do right now,” Derek finishes off, head between the palms of his hands whilst he looks pensively at the sugar coma in front of him. “I’m going to look after Stiles as much as I can, obviously, but at the same time I don’t know how to ask him if Peter is the reason why he’s so skittish and why he hasn’t been sleeping or feeding himself properly. I mean, it might just be that it was what his previous owners had told him to do, and that Peter only had him for a week or two, but if not… what do I do about my uncle? He’s my only family left. He means everything to me.” Derek looks down, ashamed. And he’s the only reason why he has no family left.

“Derek. Seriously, Derek,” Isaac says, nudging Derek’s chin up so he’s looking right at him instead of scowling at the breakfast bar. “None of this is your fault. Okay, you could have handled it better,” he says hastily, backtracking a little because of the look on Derek’s face, “But this wasn’t all you. However, I think Peter might be the cause for this, at least some of it.” Isaac says slowly, as if he doesn’t want to get the words out and Derek’s heart drops.

“What is it?” he demands, eyes flashing. Isaac shrinks back, getting off the stool he’s sitting on. In all the time they’ve spent together, Derek has only ever used his powers against Isaac three times, and two of those were because of Derek’s lack of control when he first became Alpha. “Tell me! What do you know?”

“I think Peter might be behind it, even though I really wish he wasn’t, because I know how long he has had Stiles for.”

If anything, the statement makes Derek feel even more paranoid, and he snarls, can feel his claws and fur start to grow. “When, Isaac? Stop making me wait!”

“Two months!” Isaac says panicked, and he steps away from the breakfast bar, hands held out in front of him. It reminds Derek distantly of before they got really close, when Isaac was still being beaten by his father just after the loss of Camden. His posture is defensive, and Isaac’s shoulders are tense, just like they used to be all that time ago.

Then Derek stops and thinks about what Isaac just said. “Two months. Tw- are you sure?” No. No. This can’t be happening.

“Yes! Yes I’m completely sure. I was debating whether or not to get myself a slave you see, and the last auction in Beacon Hills was two months ago. And Peter was there, I saw him. I promise I’m not lying Derek, I wouldn’t lie to you about this you know that, I-”

“Stop,” Derek says wearily, and he slumps down, missing the chair he just got out of and slides until he’s sitting under the counter. After a second Isaac joins him. “I know you're not lying. You would never lie to me. I could hear your heartbeat, and you didn’t lie. Fuck,” Derek says, and chuckles a little, slightly hysterically. “What the fuck am I going to do now?”

The two of them sit there in silence, and Derek listens to the heartbeat beside him, and also to the slightly faster heartbeat a little further away, and thinks that they aren’t so different after all. So why should one have to live in abject misery, just because the other feels the pull of the moon?

 

 

***

 

 

The next time Stiles wakes up, he wakes with the amazing feeling one gets when a person has slept in the same position for so long when they next move it feels almost painful. Stiles cannot remember a time when he managed to sleep for that long and so deeply, and relishes the ache and pull in his muscles when he stretches. He’s just swinging his legs over the side of the bed to go to the toilet when the door opens and Derek walks inside, followed closely by a younger taller man with amazing cheekbones and curled hair. 

Immediately, Stiles thinks something is wrong, because, when is it not? So he pulls his legs back under the covers and drops his head respectfully towards the two men. Judging from the lack of a collar and the way he carries himself, this unknown man is also a Were. This cannot be good.

Derek appears to be carrying some food on a tray, as well as a glass of orange juice, and at a further glance Stiles can see that he’s carrying chicken soup, with a slice of toast on the side. All of a sudden a pain hits Stiles’ chest, because before they got captured and Stiles got sold, his mother used to make him chicken soup when he was ill, stroking his hair and whispering soothing words to him while he ate. And god, his mom is gone now, and he knows that he will never see her again while he’s still alive.

His throat is choked up, and for a second he can’t breathe, and Derek looks at him with scared eyes, dropping the tray on the bedside table and moving towards him. If Stiles had any sense of self preservation he would move away from his Master, lest he hurts him, but Stiles can’t think of anything but the fact that his mom, his beautiful mom with her light polish accent is gone. And he never got to say goodbye. The last time he saw her they were being dragged off in two directions, she was fighting the hands holding her with all her might, screaming and crying with tears rolling down her face. That’s the last time he saw her, until the traders put a blindfold over his eyes and she was gone. 

Derek moves closer to him, and then Stiles folds his knees into his chest and bursts into tears, sniffling and howling in his distress. Hazily, he can see that the man he doesn’t know looks a little disturbed, but Derek next to him crawls carefully onto the bed until he’s level with Stiles. He then slowly inches his arm out, slow enough that Stiles has time to move away from it if he wants to, in order to curl it round him.

Stiles needs the comfort though, and falls into the grasp, hitching his arms around his Master’s waist. He knows that he’ll probably regret doing this later but right now he needs the comfort this man is giving him. It’s the first time he has properly let go and allowed himself to cry in what might be over a decade. 

When the indecipherable cries have reduced to muffled sobs, Stiles finally lifts his head out of Derek’s shoulder and sniffs, bringing his arm up to wipe his nose.

The stranger suddenly produces a packet of tissues and Stiles looks up at him confusedly before slowly reaching out to take one. He first looks over at his Master to make sure that it’s okay, before he finally grabs a tissue and blows his nose. He is aware that he probably looks a mess right now, but he can’t bring himself to care.

There’s a couple of awkward moments when nobody says anything, but then the strange man gestures to the tray beside the table and says in a soft voice “The soup is still warm, would you like some?”

Stiles starts at the voice, and then realises the compromising position he is in. He is wrapped round Derek; both of them so close Stiles almost can’t tell whose leg is whose. When he does realise this, he also realises that he is probably crossing a million lines- no one wants to be snotted on, especially a powerful Alpha by their slave- and so he scrambles backwards. 

The man seems to be waiting for an answer, but Stiles still isn’t sure if the soup is meant for him. Why would it be? He is a slave after all.

“For me?” He dares to question, looking at his Master worriedly, who frowns at looks back at him.

“Of course it’s for you Stiles, who else would it be for?” He says, and he sounds just as confused as Stiles feels.

“Oh,” Stiles says belatedly, when the silence has stretched on. He is quite hungry, ravenous in fact, but he needs to go to the toilet first. “Thank you, yes I would like it.” He doesn’t know how to say that he needs to go pee though- slaves aren’t meant to need things.

He shifts uncomfortably, and Derek turns to him. “What’s the matter?” the man asks, and Stiles dithers for a second before half heartedly pointing at the bathroom. “I just-”

Derek’s eyes widen, and then he jumps up and holds his hand out. “You’re allowed to ask for anything Stiles. Here, I’ll help you to the bathroom.”

Stiles accepts the hand and allows himself to be led to the bathroom, where he proceeds to take the nicest piss of perhaps his entire life. The taps in the bathroom pour out water at an amazing temperature, and he can’t help but hold his hands under the tap longer than necessary. When he finally hobbles out of the bathroom, he is suddenly hit with the smell of the soup, and his stomach gurgles in response.

“Come, eat.” Says Derek, and that makes Stiles instantly suspicious. The last time a Master wanted him to eat, it had been laced with a drug that gave him powerful hallucinations and made him claw the skin off of his wrists.

He reaches for it slowly, knowing that his Master wants him to take it, and at a snails pace, he takes a bite. It tastes even better than it smells, and there’s no evidence of any drug. His hunger takes over, and he downs it all as quickly as possible, he’s been too hungry for too long to savour it, and eats the toast- now slightly cold, equally as quickly.

The two men seem surprised at how fast he eats it. As soon as he finishes though, he feels uncomfortably full, not used to eating so much in a short amount of time, even if it is soup.

“Thank you Master, I mean Derek,” He says catching Derek’s wince, and then turns to the other man. “Thank you too.”

“Isaac,” the man says a soft smile on his lips. “My name is Isaac. Nice to meet you Stiles.” Stiles nods back once.

Derek then turns to him, and there’s a frown on his face, much like when he first saw Stiles. It makes him nervous.

“Stiles, I want to ask you something, and I want you to be as truthful as you can. Remember, I can hear your heart.” Stiles nods. He can do that, anything.

“Did Peter hurt, or torture you?”

Stiles’ heart stops. Peter told him not to say. Peter told him to keep it a secret from Derek. Peter said he’d find out if Stiles ever told Derek what he had done. How much training he went through. What does he do?

At the same time, his instincts are telling him to obey his Master, and right now, Derek is his Master. So he swallows heavily, sucks in a deep breath, and nods. The movement is faint, but Derek sees it and turns to Isaac, who frowns.

“Can you say it out loud, Stiles? Your heartbeat went up before you even nodded, can you just confirm it?” Isaac says gently, and Stiles winces, he did something wrong and it was so simple, he can’t believe it before exhaling again. “Yes. Yes Peter hurt me. It wasn’t his fault though, I promise, I was a bad slave and I needed to be punished. Really Master, Peter was not wrong to hurt me, I was rude and unworthy but I’m better now I am…” Stiles stops when he sees the look on his Master’s face.

“What did he do to you Stiles?” Derek grits out, like the words offend him in some way.

“Well, he…” Stiles looks around nervously. It’s almost like he thinks Peter can just tell he’s spilling everything that Peter told him not to tell anyone, and that he’s going to come after Stiles right now. “He told me what to eat, what to drink. That I was not to help myself to anything and that I am supposed to do whatever my Master asks of me. If I do not have a specific command I am to aid my Master in any way I can. Failure to do so results in whipping, no food, being tied up and…” Stiles knows he shouldn’t go any further, so he stops talking.

“What Stiles? What else did Peter do to you? Stiles this is important!” Red eyes flash at him, and Stiles shrinks backwards, dropping to the floor and kneeling, just like he had been taught to.

“I’m sorry Master; please don’t be angry at me. He punished me in any way that wouldn’t mark me permanently, so I was all ready for you to use Master, he even fucked me himself so he knew I was good enough for you. Please Master, he told me not to tell you but I have to do anything you ask, please don’t hurt me, I’ll make it up to you.” Stiles’ breath hitches as he hears movement above him but he doesn’t look up, because he has to stay down.

He finally looks up when his Master starts to talk. “Look up, Stiles, you haven’t done anything wrong. Please, get off the floor.” Stiles immediately stands up, knees cracking. 

Master’s shoulders are tense, and his eyes are still glowing. Isaac is holding onto his shoulder, not holding him back, but trying to calm him down. The touch seems to work a little. He glances meaningfully at Isaac and then to Stiles before he turns on his feet and starts to walk out of the room

“You haven’t done anything wrong Stiles,” Derek says over his shoulder. “You aren’t the person who is in the wrong here. But I know who is, and when I find him? I’m going to kill him.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

There's violence in this chapter, and gore, but I don't know if it's very graphic. I put a warning in the tags anyway haha.

 

As Derek leaves the room, he can feel the change come over him a little more, and he rolls his neck a little to let the wolf out a tiny bit more. He can feel his teeth lengthen, his incisors cutting into his bottom lip, but he relishes in the spark of pain. He meant it when he said he was going to confront his uncle. He’s always had a suspicion since the fire that something wasn’t completely right, and the death of Laura always seemed a little too hush hush for Derek’s tastes.

The only reason why Derek hasn’t done anything about it before now is because he knew he couldn’t do it on his own. Peter, whilst not the Alpha, does all the work. He goes to all the social functions for Derek, keeps the Hale legacy going. After the fire Derek was in a really bad way mentally, and whilst Peter had physical burns, he could continue with his life and pick up where Talia left off. It took two years until Peter was strong enough, a long, arduous time in which Laura died and put Derek even deeper into his downward spiral into depression and reclusion, but they managed. 

Too wired up to use his car, Derek fully wolfs out and starts to run, arms and legs moving in synchronised movement. Peter lives in a mansion, similar to Derek’s own, but it’s on the other side of the woods entirely, putting almost twenty miles between the two houses. Derek runs, breathes in and out evenly, and arrives at the house less than forty minutes later. 

Peter is in, Derek can hear his heartbeat, can smell the layers of his scent, the strongest left only minutes ago. Derek feels the growl building up inside of him, and he clenches his fists feeling his claws cut into his palm.

If Derek were feeling a little more rational he would currently be questioning if Stiles was really telling the truth, but to Derek, there is a kind of sincerity that hangs around the boy, something that makes Derek believe what he is saying. That, the fact that Stiles’ heartbeat didn’t waver, coupled with what Derek knows about his uncle just makes Derek think that what he’s doing is right.

He launches himself at the front door and kicks it down, immediately after hearing the sound of running footsteps coming towards him. Peter’s heartbeat stays where it is though, telling him that it is Peter’s slaves rushing towards the front of the house.

Sure enough, ten seconds later, the two young men who bought Stiles into his house come running to where Derek is snarling in rage. Both of them look surprised to see him, but quickly control their expressions. 

“Sir, what are you doing here? Master hasn’t said anything about you- what happened?” One of them says, gesturing to the splintered door. 

Derek growls and pushes past, sending them both flying into the walls. It’s accidental, but Derek has no time, moving past them and leaping down the hallway and up the sumptuous stairs.

He locates Peter quickly, and opens the door by kicking it in.

“Why would you?” he roars, and Peter flinches at the sheer amount of power in Derek’s tone. In all the years Derek has been Alpha he has never used his wolf against his uncle, and the fact that Derek is putting so much power into his voice really shows something is up. 

“Why would I what, Derek? What the hell is going on? Did you really just break my door down?” 

Derek ignores the last part of that sentence, and snarls. “You tortured Stiles! Why would you do that? You make me sick!”

Peter looks taken aback for a moment, before his eyebrows furrow in anger. Then his expression smoothes out into one of total innocence. Derek doesn’t buy it.

“Me? Derek, I would never do such a thing! I always take good care of my pets and I make sure they are all happy. Why would you say such horrible things about me?” 

Derek can smell the insincerity rolling off of his uncle in waves. “Stop lying to me Peter. Stiles nearly died this week, and the only way that could have happened is because you mistreated him, and then you, you fucking brainwashed him into thinking that he is a toy! Humans aren’t pets Peter, they’re people! What is wrong with you?” 

Peter growls a little, and his eyes light up blue.

Blue.

It’s only then that Derek realises that he has never seen his uncle wolf out, not in a very long time. “Peter. What have you done?”

“I just wanted to give you a nice birthday present Derek, no harm. He was just so… insolent. I had to teach him so many lessons so he would be worthy of you. God, how he talked, and talked. I’m so glad I beat that out of him.”

The rage bubbles up inside of Derek and he snarls. This, what has happened to his uncle? “Why are your eyes blue Peter? Why are they blue?” 

Peter then stops where he is, and grins, eyes still the unearthly colour. “You aren’t the only person who has taken an innocent life, Derek. God, it all would have been so much easier if you didn’t take what was rightfully mine!”

“What did you do Peter?” Derek howls, so loudly that he can hear the answering calls of his pack.

“I was hurting, Derek! I wanted to take the pain away, allow myself to heal quicker after the fire, the fire that was your fault by the way, so thank you for that. But no, when I killed your big sister, the power passed to you. And sure, I eventually healed, without the Alpha power, but I could never get what I wanted. Do you know how long I’ve kept all this inside? It’s been years since I killed Laura, and I regret it, because not only did I lose another part of my family, but I also got nothing from it!”

Each word is like a physical blow to the chest. After the fire Derek relied on Laura all the time. And his uncle… oh god. His uncle killed his sister. His uncle was a murderer. There was nothing left. In his mind, he flashes back to when he found out Laura was dead, a Were the authorities said, but the never found the killer. Who is standing right in front of him? God, and this man cried at Laura’s funeral. The fucking psychopath. 

“Why would you. Fuck. Why am I still here then Peter? Why didn’t you just do the same to me too and let me die? You know that I wanted to kill myself. I know it was my fault that my family are dead. I just don’t understand why you would do this.” Derek says the last part so quietly, and he sees Peter’s face twist.

“I told you Derek, I was in pain. I had lost my wife, I was healing slowly, and I was out of my mind in pain. I regret everything I did to Laura, and I couldn’t make the same mistake twice. I’m fully healed now, but at what cost? I tried to make it up to you without you knowing, really.” Peter hold his hands out imploringly, and steps forward. Derek steps back immediately, he can’t be close to him right now. Peter looks hurt. 

“I knew you were lonely, so I got you a slave. I wanted to make him perfect for you, so I hurt him until he was. Can’t you see that everything I’ve ever done since Laura’s death was for you? I did this for you!” 

And fuck, if that doesn’t make Derek feel even sicker. He hurt Stiles, for him. He hurt Stiles, so Derek could be happy. No matter how much effort Peter had put into making Derek feel better, the fact remained that he was still a monster. He had killed Laura, an Alpha and Derek’s family, and had almost killed a human.

Derek steps forward and lets his claws slide out even more, and Peter notices the action.

“Derek, no. I told you; I did all of this for you! You can’t kill me! If anything, you’re in my debt because of how much I helped you!” Peter keeps trying to stop Derek, but Derek’s mind is set. He cannot allow Peter to live. He is a killer. And whilst Derek could be called the same thing, Derek knows that he did not kill willingly like his uncle, and then torture a human for months on end. 

“I’m sorry Peter”, he says, before he feels the wolf inside of him take over.

The older man keeps pleading forgiveness, voice shrill and quick in the face of imminent death, but Derek just rolls his head around, and feels his teeth lengthen.

Derek can see the exact point that Peter realises there is no changing Derek’s mind, because he suddenly stops crying and straightens up to his full height.

“Well, if that’s how it’s going to be, Derek,” the man murmurs, and Derek feels a shiver roll down his spine. He’s never heard his uncle speak like this before, quiet, intense. “If this is how it’s going to be, then I’m not going down without a fight.” Peter’s eyes glow brightly, and then his teeth and claws grow and he throws himself at Derek.

All the hours Derek has spent in his gym start to pay off, as he grapples with his uncle and throws him on the floor. Peter hisses, more catlike than wolf, before he leaps back onto his feet and charges at Derek again.

Peter is faster and more agile, but Derek has strength, power and youth on his side, so they are both evenly matched. A little too evenly matched for Derek’s taste. 

He goes for a roundhouse kick, which Peter catches a hold of his foot and flips him onto the floor. Derek tries to scramble up but in an instant Peter has him pinned down.

“Please Derek, nephew, I don’t want to fight. I’m sorry for everything, but I had my reasons.”

“I don’t care,” Derek growls, trying to throw his uncle off of him. “You killed Laura, you hurt Stiles, and you don’t seem to understand that that was wrong?”

Peter’s expression darkens and Derek’s stomach fills with dread. “If that’s how it’s going to be then.” He swipes his claws across Derek’s stomach, but at that moment Derek manages to get Peter off balance and so Peter’s claws only catch his shoulder and arm.

He springs up onto his feet and then barrels forward, catching his uncle round the waist and attacking fiercely. 

Although he’s the Alpha, Derek is finding it hard to get control over Peter. The man is too fast, too good. Derek manages to hit Peter a couple of times, but all they seem to do is make Peter even more enraged. His uncle also manages to hit Derek a few times, meaning that his shirt is ripped and bloody, and Derek is fairly sure his nose is broken. 

Peter swipes, hits, kicks, and Derek can feel himself starting to wear out a little. It takes another blow, and then Peter rakes his claws across Derek’s stomach, which immediately starts bleeding heavily. He carries on though, and Peter manages to get another lucky shot, slicing through the muscle in Derek’s leg so that it can’t support his weight properly.

Even though he’s the Alpha, Derek suddenly feels that he can’t win this fight, and that he’s going to die at the hands of his uncle.

Peter can sense it too, and he starts to taunt Derek.

“Little Alpha, useless Alpha. You are a disgrace to the Hale dynasty. Why did you get the power and not I? I would know how to use it, how to be the best. You are nothing.” 

Derek can’t help but agree a little, but he tries to hit back. Peter side steps easily, and starts laughing. Derek has never seen this side of his uncle before and it scares him. It’s at that moment that Derek realises that he truly is related to a complete psychopath.

Peter continues to mock Derek, moving quickly so he avoids Derek’s claws and teeth.

“Come on Derek. You know you can’t win. You’re nothing. Nothing like that piece of shit human that couldn’t take a little pain. He wasn’t worth the money I paid for him, I’m glad I passed him onto you.”

At the mention of Stiles, something inside Derek snaps. He howls and then he can feel his body changing, changing like it never has before.

Peter stops moving, and his eyes widen. “What the-”

Derek’s spine snaps, bends, reforms, and fur grows where it never has before. His face stretches out, and at the back of his mind he can feel his clothes ripping from his body. Peter stands transfixed.

Derek’s wolf howls with joy, finally, and the sound bursts from Derek’s throat. Although he is in another form, he still feels the same, but more powerful. The wounds he has still ache, but they seem more ignorable now. 

Derek remembers how his mother used to be able to shift fully, and Laura when she became Alpha, and he remembers how it was a gift few Weres had. It was the very reason why the Hales had such a large territory and reputation. Derek had tried to shift fully before, but he had always failed, and he had resigned himself to the fact that he was never supposed to be Alpha and was therefore a terrible one. But now…

Peter shakes his head and then pounces again, and Derek leaps to return the attack.

The fight is more on Derek’s side now, and slowly he beats Peter down. Snarling and biting. 

Derek just thinks he has Peter when his uncle suddenly lashes out and catches Derek’s unprotected stomach, still injured. This time Peter’s claws go far deeper than before, right from his hip all the way to the opposite shoulder and Derek whines in pain. It hurts, more than anything Derek has ever felt before, and he suddenly realises that this wound is deep, so deep Derek is probably going to die from it. It’s too big to heal from fast enough to combat the blood loss.

While Peter smiles at his little victory, Derek finds it within himself, a last reserve of strength, and he leaps forward, hitting Peter in the middle of his chest and knocking him to the floor. There’s a brief moment where Derek can see Peter’s fear, and he wishes he didn’t have to do this, before he swipes his claws across his uncle’s throat.

The blue flares in Peter’s eyes, brighter than normal, before they fade, and Derek knows his uncle is dead. He is the last Hale alive. 

At the thought, Derek feels the wolf curling back into his body, and he gets off of his uncle, before turning fully human. As he does so, a huge amount of pain rolls through him, and he looks down at his bare chest in shock.

The wound looks and feels even worse now, blood running down him with no signs of slowing. That, coupled with the other injuries, makes Derek feel lightheaded. He’s already lost too much blood, and he isn’t going to last much longer. 

He looks around him, and finds a pair of trousers and a hoodie to pull on, wincing while he puts them on, before he stumbles out of the house and back into the woods. The voice inside of his head is telling him that he has to go back to Stiles, and so he heads off back in the direction of his own home. He can’t go to hospital; there isn’t one that caters to Weres.

Its slow going, his right leg is dragging along behind him and his chest feels like it’s on fire. He keeps going, slumping against a tree when he feels faint, before continuing on. When he reaches his house he nearly cries with relief, but he’s so tired and so dizzy he can’t quite manage it. 

He rings the doorbell, and Stiles opens the door. Derek smiles up at him, before his vision becomes unfocused and he can see four Stiles’ at once. 

Eight arms enter his line of vision, and then they are gone, and in the back of his head, Derek registers that he’s suddenly on his knees. Then, everything is dark and Derek is finally at peace.

 

***

 

Isaac stays with Stiles for another hour, before his ears catch something that Stiles can’t hear and he says he has to leave. 

Stiles is happy enough on his own, but he worries about what is happening right now, where Derek is. The nervousness means he can’t lie still, so he gets back out of bed and goes downstairs, pacing in the kitchen. He hears nothing. It’s a horrible feeling.

It’s another two hours after Isaac leaves that anything happens. The doorbell rings, which it has only done once since Stiles has been living here, and it was for Derek’s good friend. As there is no-one else in the house, Stiles makes his way to the front door and opens it. 

In front of him is his Master, wearing a different t-shirt and pants to what he wore when he left, and the fabrics are completely saturated with blood, so much so that Stiles couldn’t even begin to guess what the original colour of the fabric is.

Derek opens his mouth as if to say something, before he sways, and drops to his knees. Stiles immediately holds his arms out to catch his Master who tips to the side and slumps on the front of the porch unconscious. His Master’s breathing is erratic and when Stiles pulls up the side if the t-shirt, he sees the edge of a huge, gaping wound, still pumping out blood. It’s cold outside, and both Derek and Stiles are shivering.

Mustering his strength, and sucking in a deep lungful of air, Stiles takes hold of his Master and drags him into the house where it is warm, before shutting the door. He dithers for a moment, he doesn’t know what to do with a severely injured Were that isn’t healing, before he spots Derek’s phone on the side. He lunges for it, ignoring the lurch of his own stomach and unlocks it. Luckily, it doesn’t need a password. He then scrolls through the contacts until he sees a name he knows.

Isaac pops up, and he hits call, putting it on speaker running back to Derek and pressing his hands over the wound. It’s still gaping open and weeping profusely and fuck, Stiles thinks he might be sick. 

“Derek? Where are you?” Comes Isaac’s voice, and Stiles sucks in a breath. 

“Sir? It’s Stiles, Master is home and he’s really badly injured and it isn’t healing, it won’t stop bleeding, please can you get help, I don’t know what to do.” 

Isaac curses before he says quickly and urgently. “Okay, Stiles get loads of towels and press it on the wound. Try to stem the blood flow. I’ll be there as soon as possible. Don’t panic.” The line goes dead.

Stiles knows that the towels are kept upstairs, but instead he goes into the kitchen, as it’s closer, to get dry dish drying towels, a whole armful of them, and runs back into the hallway pressing them onto the wound.

Derek is so pale, he looks even worse than Stiles does.

Time seems to drag on, and a couple of times he thinks his Master appears to stop breathing so he freaks out and starts to hyperventilate. Isaac finds Stiles in the middle of a panic attack on the hallway floor, still holding onto the towels hard. He leads Stiles away while two men who Stiles have never met before crowd around his Master. One of them is older, dark skinned and bald, while the other is much younger, of Latino decent with a tattoo on his left arm. When he sees the body his eyes flare gold, and Stiles knows the younger man is a Beta.

He stands while they lift Derek up and place him on the table in the kitchen, and then push Stiles out of the room. Isaac stays in there with Derek. 

There’s nothing to do other than wait, and Stiles is surprised to find that he is extremely worried for Derek, even though it is his Master. Stiles has never felt such strong emotions other than hatred for an owner before and it catches him by surprise. He thinks it is because the man has shown him hospitality, and cared for him even when he didn’t need to. Plus, he hasn’t taken advantage of Stiles yet, even when he was naked. Peter told him that he had to be good for Derek, but while Derek might have ignored him, he never treated Stiles badly, or ordered him about. He complimented Stiles’ cooking, and gave Stiles food. He was a good Master, even if Stiles never saw him. 

Its then that it hits Stiles that maybe Derek does care about him, and it just makes Stiles hope that Derek lives even more. 

He sits, fidgeting, outside the door, until it opens again. 

When it does open, the unknown younger man walks out and crouches in front of Stiles, a sombre look on his face. He looks only older than Stiles, but Stiles knows that even if they are the same age they can never talk or be friends because of the divide between the two species. It would be wrong for the Were to be seen with a human boy unless the human was his slave. It seems a shame, because Stiles thinks the Were looks kind. It might be the drugs that Stiles is on talking though.

The Were opens his mouth, he looks so upset and immediately Stiles thinks that the worst that could happen has happened.

Stiles’ breath catches in his throat. No.


	7. Chapter 7

 

“He’s dead isn’t he? I couldn’t save him.” Stiles says lowly, before the man can say anything. He doesn’t want to hear him say it, because Stiles saying it makes it less real somehow. It works in his head.

The young man’s mouth works open and shut a couple of time before blurting out “No!” and Stiles all of a sudden has no idea what’s going on.

“No, no, he’s not dead, I’m sorry; did I make you think he was? Gosh, I’m so sorry.” The man apologises and Stiles can’t quite understand what the man says for a moment, and he just sits there, mouth hanging open.

Then the words actually process in his brain, and fuck. “He’s okay? What’s going on?”

The guy, looking far less serious than he did a moment ago, smiles softly. “He’s fine. The wounds that he had were pretty bad, and walking on them made them worse, but we stitched them up to help with the healing and he’ll be fully healed in about a day. He’s still unconscious at the moment, but that’s only because Deaton gave him a little something so that he didn’t wake up in the middle of the stitching. He’ll probably wake up in about half an hour or so.”

A deep breath is pulled out of him in one big rush. He didn’t kill his Master. Everything is okay.

“Thank you sir.” He says respectfully to the young man.

“Scott.” The Were says, sticking out his hand and letting Stiles shake it. He only hesitates for a second before grasping the Were’s hand. Scott doesn’t seem to care that Stiles’ hands are still shaking a little. “My name is Scott McCall. I think my mom might have looked over you in the hospital?”

Stiles thinks for a moment before he can see an immediate connection. “Melissa?” Scott smiles, a wide grin that just makes Stiles want to beam right back.

“Yeah, that’s my mom. She’s actually my slave, because she isn’t a Were and I wanted to keep her safe, she wanted to be mine after I got bit so that we could still stay together, but she’s still the ruler in the house. Makes me do my own washing and everything.”

Stiles can’t believe it. A slave in charge of the house and their Master? It seems so wrong, yet at the same time, Stiles really can’t see Melissa being deferential at all when it comes to her owner. 

“Tell her I say thank you for all her hard work.” Stiles says, and Scott nods. “Sure thing!”

They sit in silence for a second, before Scott jumps up and holds out a hand. Stiles takes it and the man pulls him up to his feet. There’s a second where he feels lightheaded, but Scott supports him. He’s beginning to realise that the young man doesn’t really act like a Were at all.

“When were you bitten, if you don’t mind me asking?” Stiles asks politely. He kinda just wants to go see Derek, look after him, which seems a little strange but it’s what he wants to do.

Scott frowns for a moment, dark expression crossing his face before clearing almost immediately. “Just over a year ago now. I was living in a commune with my mom, and a rabid omega got me. Obviously I had to leave, since I was no longer human, and my mom just… came with me.”

It makes sense then, that Scott isn’t the typical Beta, if he hadn’t been a Were for long.

They stand in silence for a few seconds and Stiles feels the need to fidget, as he does a lot, but after years of perfecting, he restrains himself. It’s Scott that breaks first.

“Do you want to go see Derek?”

Scott almost hasn’t finished the sentence before Stiles is nodding his head frantically.

They’ve moved Derek into the room upstairs, his bedroom which Stiles has never been in before. Deaton is in there with him, but he is just standing in the corner. When he sees Stiles however, he inclines his head respectfully, and that doesn’t really make sense to Stiles since he clearly has the lowest status in the room, but he doesn’t say anything. Isaac is also in the room, on one side of his Alpha.

Derek looks peaceful, a look Stiles doesn’t think he has ever seen on the man before, and it makes him look younger.

It also strengthens the idea in Stiles’ mind that Derek isn’t a bad Master, like Peter, or like his other owners before, and if Stiles is really going to be completely honest with himself, besides the shadows under Derek’s eyes he looks… really attractive.

That thought is one Stiles has never had before. All his other owners were either old and unattractive, or too terrifying to either consider the thought. The only person Stiles has ever even thought about like that was another slave who Stiles used to live with, back before the owner died and he got sold again. The slave was called Danny, and he was a tanned man, a year or so older than Stiles. They only ever traded one kiss, knowing that if they were found out they would be beaten severely. It is the only time that Stiles can remember where he was kissed with his own consent. That kind of makes Stiles sad, that so much of his life has been taken from him without his permission.

Stiles slowly makes his way over to the bed, and sits on the edge, laughing a little inside at the irony that just over a day ago the roles were switched and it was Stiles in the bed, not his owner.

At the movement, Derek’s eyelids flicker, and Stiles leans forward. He sort of wants to hold Derek’s hand, show support, but he doesn’t know if he’s allowed. Finally, Derek’s eyes open fully, and they focus after a second. He immediately spots Stiles next to him.

“Hey,” Derek says, and his voice is raspy and sleep soft. It sounds good. “You’re okay.”

Stiles is confused. “I’m okay? You’re the one that nearly died! What do you mean, ‘I’m okay?’”

“You’re my resp’nsb’lty, Stiles, I need t’ protect you. I w’s a bad owner b’fore but I’m gonna make it up to you. I’ll make you real’se you’re safe here.”

It occurs to Stiles that whatever drug Deaton gave to Derek still isn’t fully out of his system yet. He gets the idea that Derek wouldn’t say this to him normally. Still, the fact that he’s saying it whilst drugged up and half asleep adds a little more cement to Stiles’ idea that Derek is not a bad person at all.

“Thanks Derek.” Stiles says softly, and the man smiles drowsily in response. “You get back to sleep now, okay?”

It’s as if the words have some kind of sleeping agent in them, as soon as he says it, Derek is out like a light once again. Beside him, Isaac relaxes and Deaton starts to gather up his things.

“Call me if anything happens, although I doubt it will.” The doctor says, as he carefully puts a few glass containers back into his bag. Isaac nods and Stiles gives a small noise of assent before Deaton starts to leave. Scott is at the door, and the two exchange a small conversation before Deaton goes, Isaac following close behind to show him out. Scott makes his way into the room.

“Deaton asked me to stay until Derek wakes up again, is that okay?” Stiles doesn’t really know what to do, so he nods, wordlessly. “Awesome. Is there anything you want? Anything you need?”

It seems strange, someone doing something for him instead, especially a Were. Still, Stiles is sort of hungry, he last ate over a day ago, and with the regular meals at the hospital he’s feeling the ache much sooner than he would normally.

“Please may you get my pills? I think they’re beside my bed in the guest room down the hall.” He asks, before standing up. “Would you like something to eat Scott? I can make anything you want.” No matter how Scott treats him, Stiles is still the subordinate one between to two of them, and Stiles isn’t going to forget that. No matter how truthful and lax Derek might be, Stiles is still going to be on his guard. He just thinks that maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t have to worry so much any more.

“Ooh, I would cook for you instead, but I really can’t cook at all.” Scott looks apologetic, but he still smiles anyway. If Scott weren’t another species now, Stiles could definitely see the two of them being good friends.

“What about steak and potatoes? I mean, I know it’s late but I think I can still pretend it’s dinner.” It’s actually about eleven at night, possibly too late for dinner, but far too early for breakfast.

Scott nods eagerly, and Stiles looks at his master one last time, making sure that he’s still comfortably asleep, before leaving the room. Isaac is just coming back up the stairs as Stiles makes his way down them, and he too wants some food.

Cooking gives Stiles comfort; it’s what he’s used to doing. Since all Weres love meat and meat filled products, it’s the animal side getting in touch with them, Stiles reasons, he’s made steak and potatoes more times than he can count.

He sets the potatoes in a pan of boiling water to cook, and grabs the steaks out of the gleaming fridge. They’ve been in there for a little while, but Stiles sniffs them, and they seem fine. It’s times like these where Stiles thinks that having a supernatural sniffer would be really helpful.

He also chops up some leeks and puts them on to steam with some frozen broccoli, because even Weres have to eat healthily. He then grabs the steaks and grills them, making sure that they are only lightly cooked so that they are still pretty much blood inside. Stiles can remember the first time he had to cook for an owner, and he did the steaks for too long. He still has the whip scars on his back from that. He learnt pretty quickly from then on.

When it’s all done he grabs a couple of trays and makes his way upstairs. His head is throbbing a little, he might have overdone it a little, but he shakes it off and continues up the stairs.

As he makes his way into the room, three heads are already turned, facing him, and Stiles winces inside.

“Derek!” He babbles, giving a tray to Scott, and then Isaac. “I didn’t realise you were awake. Would you like some dinner too?”

Derek nods, sitting up a little in the bed, and god, he looks so much better. The stitches probably don’t even need to be in anymore, which must be why Scott is still here.

“I’ll make you the same. Unless you’d like something different?” He questions, and Derek frowns.

“No, I’ll have the same as you. Extra steak please.” Derek grunts, and beside him Isaac’s eyes sharpen as they look up from his plate.

“You only did two steaks, didn’t you?” Isaac says, and Stiles immediately panics. Has he done something wrong? Was he supposed to do more?

“I… yes. Is that okay? Would you like me to do another for you?” Scott is sitting in the corner, not saying the word, but listening to the conversation. He looks like he’s thinking hard though, and it makes Stiles even more nervous.

This time Derek is the one who looks angry, and Stiles doesn’t know what to do. What has he done wrong? “You didn’t make any dinner for yourself?” He asks, and fuck, Stiles is so confused.

“No?” He answers, phrasing the answer like a question. “Why would I? I mean, if you want me to I can but I know I shouldn’t nor-”

Oh shit. He’s done something wrong.

“Stiles.” Derek says, and although his voice is low and raspy he sounds urgent. “I’m going to say this once and I don’t want to say it again. If you’re hungry, you eat. I give free reign to eat anything in this house. I’m having a meal? Make something for you too. I know you eat your kibble, but I threw it away. Don’t eat that anymore. You need more than that, okay? You deserve more.”

Stiles doesn’t really know what to do with himself, and for a moment he can feel himself want to cry. He can eat whatever he wants? Whenever he wants? No more of that disgusting slave kibble that Stiles choked back because he knew he had to.

He rushes to the bed, and throws his arms around Derek’s legs. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he babbles, he can't stop.

Derek smiles lightly, before reaching out and ruffling Stiles’ hair. Since he was sold, his hair has started to grow out, and now it’s longer at the front than it was before. Stiles can’t really remember a time where his hair wasn’t shaven.

“No problem. You remember that okay? Now, please can you make me some of that steak, and then come up here and eat with me, okay?”

Stiles scampers out the door and back downstairs. If this is how it’s going to be in this household from now on, Stiles never wants to leave.

 

 

***

 

 

Derek had been awake for roughly twenty minutes before Stiles came up the stairs with the food for his Beta, and the other Were he now knows as Scott. He had snarled at the man for a second, until the guy told him that he had saved Derek.

Now, he fondly watches Stiles go, smiling at the happy scent Stiles is giving off. His stomach is rumbling, but he knows Stiles will cook something amazing for him. He never thought that a man, a young one at that- the papers estimated his age at seventeen, could change his life so much. Now, finally, Derek thinks he has something to live for. He wants to scent that emotion on Stiles all the time, and he makes the decision to make that happen. He’s never felt so strongly for someone since Kate, before she killed his family anyway, and the consequences of that thought scare him a little. 

Isaac looks at him, and Derek knows he’s been rumbled. “No way.” Isaac says, and Scott looks interested.

“Shut up.” He snaps, and Isaac is quiet. He’s still smirking though.

There’s an awkward moment of silence, as Scott and Isaac dig back into their food, before Scott starts to talk. “How long have you had Stiles then?” He asks, shovelling a potato into his mouth.

If Derek counts it up in his head… fuck. It hasn’t been long at all. “Two weeks.”

“You seem to like him.” This isn’t a question, it’s a statement, and it’s also one that’s true. Derek nods.

Scott finishes the steak, and puts the plate to the side, leaning forwards.

“I know you’re an Alpha, and you are just what we need.” He says, eyes alight.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m part of a group,” Scott swallows, and smiles. “And we are promoting human awareness and equality. As a faction, we believe that too many humans are getting victimised and that the government and the law do not do enough for the humans in our society. Did you know that since the Slavery Act has been passed, over two million complaints have been made regarding the mistreatment of slaves, yet less than ten thousand have been dealt with as they should? Plus, you have to remember that these complaints have been made by slaves strong enough to feel they can deny their masters. It’s even worse than it seems at first.”

Derek is completely shocked, and for a second he is so scared that he listens out for Stiles’ heartbeat to make sure he’s okay. Stiles is humming, something Derek has never heard him do, and the jolly tune helps him to calm down.

“Why me?” He asks. He wants to help. He has to help. Stiles has made him realise how much of a shitty Alpha- person even- he’s been, and he wants to change that. Derek thinks this is the perfect way how. If he can change the life of one, even if it takes forever, surely he can change the lives of many?

“We’re gathering supporters every day, freed humans, sympathetic Betas and Omegas and the like. However, what we don’t have is the support of an Alpha, and you, especially considering the influence of the Hale dynasty, would be perfect. If you joined, people would see the immoral acts going on, and they would change their attitudes. We need a figurehead, and you are it. With your support, we could change the lives of millions of slaves, definitely the majority of slaves in California at least.”

Scott is empowered, he knows exactly what he stands for, and he is willing to fight to the death to succeed. He makes Derek want to be a better man, a better Alpha. He makes Derek want to do something.

“Tell me what I have to do,” He orders, and Scott grins.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

The next week passes quickly; before Stiles had never seen Scott at all, and now he was round the house all the time, along with other humans, and Weres. They are plotting something, and Stiles has never seen Derek look more alive. The Alpha’s stitches are out now, and he’s back to full health, and the spark of attraction that Stiles feels is slowly getting bigger every time Derek smiles, or helps him.

Each day Stiles makes breakfast for Derek and they eat together. Derek always asks how Stiles is, and Stiles always replies honestly, “better,” and the Were smiles in response. One morning Stiles slept in longer than he ever has before, and when he woke up, he was greeted by Derek smiling at him softly, with a banana in one hand, and a steaming mug of coffee in the other. Stiles has never been woken up in such a lovely way before, and he hopes it will happen again.

As well as being more active, Derek is never alone now, he hardly ever spends time in his study anymore, Derek always questions Stiles about his day, and gives back information in return.

Derek tells him of his family, though he doesn’t go into detail about their deaths, which Stiles understands, as it must still be painful. The police come round one day, to ask about Peter’s body, and they ask them both to give a statement. By law, it is allowed for a Were to kill another if the other had murdered an innocent person, and it quickly became clear that Laura was not the only murder connected with Peter. While Derek was innocent, his Alpha status also helped, as he was dropped of all charges after only a day of questioning. Then, it was back to work for Derek.

Stiles knows he is planning something with Scott, and the four other people around. Allison, an ex- hunter who put her crossbow aside and now fights for human rights, along with her father, Chris. There’s Lydia, not a Were but not a human either (Stiles doesn’t want to ask) and is possibly the scariest person Stiles has ever met in the best way possible, and Jackson, who Stiles doesn’t really like, but the Were always asks him how he is.

The five of them talk seriously, and they all seem to have the same goal. They all seem to be fighting for purpose, and it seems clear to Stiles that Derek is now fighting for that principle also. He just hopes that whatever it is, is good.

The group are strange, Stiles has never heard of hunters and wolves working together. Hunters made up a tiny percentage of the human population, risking their lives in order to murder as many Weres as possible. The fanatics were few and far between, in the last one hundred years their numbers had dropped dramatically due to the clamp down of Were authorities and the consequent larger divide between Weres and humans, even bigger than it was before. Whilst these hunters no longer kill, it is clear that they still believe that Weres are wrong.

They keep talking about a date in a two weeks time, after Christmas. It is another ball, where Derek has to go, like last time. Now that Peter is dead, he no longer has the choice of gracefully stepping out.

Not that that seems to matter, as it is clear that something is going to happen while Derek is there that is extremely important. Stiles, while he was taught never to question something, wants to know what is going on. He’s heard his name come up multiple times, and he wants to ask what is going to happen, but he just can’t work out how to ask.

Finally, one week after all this started, the two of them are eating dinner as they have done every night. Derek made dinner tonight, much to Stiles’ surprise, and now the two of them are eating what might be the best lasagne Stiles has ever had.

“This is so good!” He enthuses, shovelling another mouthful in. Normally, Stiles tries to act respectfully around his owner, but this meal is too good to hold back.

Derek doesn’t seem to mind anyway, as he laughs. “Thanks Stiles. I wanted to make something nice for you for a change.”

Stiles smiles. The two of them get along so much better now. It makes Stiles wish there wasn’t the block of a slave/owner partnership getting in between their friendship.

They eat in silence for a little longer before Derek finishes and puts his cutlery down. He appears to want to speak. Stiles scoops another forkful into his mouth, but gestures to show he’s listening.

“You’re probably wondering what’s going on,” Derek begins, taking a swig of some wolfsbane- laced beer. “Taking you under my wing has given me a new… perspective on life, lets say. The mistreatment you’ve gone through by your other owners, and me, I’m ashamed to admit.” Here, Derek takes a deep breath and Stiles wants to tell him that he’s been an amazing Master so far, if only he knew what Stiles has been through.

“But I want to change all that. I want to make a difference. I want you, and all other humans to not feel weak anymore, I want to help you, and other slaves.” Stiles can't believe what he’s hearing, and he actually forgets there’s food on his fork for a second, until he accidentally drops it in his lap.

“On New Year’s Eve, our city holds a ball, which only the Weres can attend. It is the most popular and well known event of the year, and this year especially will be even more interesting, as the New Year falls on a blue moon. I, as you have probably noticed, have joined a new group promoting human equality, and at the event I plan to make my affiliations clear. As Alpha of northern California, I plan to make a big difference to the lives of many people. However, I must ask you to do one thing for me. It will be the most important part of the night, and it has to be you. I understand if you don’t want to go ahead with it, I don’t want to pressure you, but this is big.”

Stiles listens to Derek. To what the Were is saying, and he can hear the sincerity. This man wants to make a difference. This man is what the humans have been waiting for. Stiles can remember being locked up and hearing whispers from other slaves asking for someone to come and save them. If Derek can do this, this could change so many lives.

Stiles looks at Derek, really looks at him. This past week has given a whole new perspective on Weres. Before, Stiles thought that all wolves were animals in every sense of the word. They were sadistic, and took pleasure in causing humans pain. While Stiles wasn’t alive then, he has heard stories of the Washington massacre fifty years ago, where an entire commune of thirty thousand humans were rounded up, and subsequently murdered.

It is clear that Derek is not the same, and it gives Stiles hope to think that his father is owned by someone who is like Derek - kind.

Now that Stiles is no longer as afraid of his Master, he feels affection, and while he keeps scolding his heart, and telling it that it will never happen, he wishes that the tentative friendship that the two have built up could be more.

That, that is why Stiles lifts his head up, and stares into Derek’s amazing hazel, blue, grey, green eyes. He’s slowly coming to the realisation that he would do a lot for this man, and it has nothing to do with the fact that he is owned by him.

“Anything.” He says, “I’ll do anything if it helps my people.” Derek looks proud, and Stiles flushes in response.

“What’s the plan then?”

Derek leans forward, and the preparations begin.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING. This chapter contains a panic attack, and a scene that could be seen as non con. I have tagged it as dubious consent, but some people may feel that non con is more appropriate. Hope that this is okay with everyone!

 

Stiles adjusts his collar, and then his suit cufflinks. The shirt is soft, softer than a lot of fabrics Stiles is used to, yet the material still feels scratchy. It’s another half an hour until they have to leave the house for the ball, it’s only been dark for a little while now, but Stiles is already dressed and ready to go and he can’t help but fidget.

There’s a short knock at the door, and Stiles calls out for the person to come in, even though he already knows who it’s going to be. As guessed, Derek pokes his head through the door. He looks equally as smart, he’s even shaved his beard for the occasion. The suit he’s wearing fits perfectly, and Stiles feels a flash of want before he manages to control himself. Derek looks nervous, more stressed than Stiles has ever seen. His face screams fear, and Stiles knows that however much pressure there is on him, it’s nothing compared to what Derek is going through. The man might possibly be giving up his whole livelihood, his whole life even; for this cause. At least it is a just cause. A cause that is worth fighting for.

“You ready?” Derek asks, tapping a finger on the edge of a door frame. “Everyone else is downstairs.”

Stiles nods, and with one last look at his hair, he makes his way down with his owner to the living room. He knows that out of everyone there he is the least good looking, but he has to try and make an effort in order to make Derek look good when they arrive at the ball.

Scott is standing up in the room, too antsy to sit, dressed up in a dark suit and tie, along with Isaac and Jackson. Lydia is also dressed up, in a short light coloured silky number. Although it isn’t exactly protocol for a banshee (Stiles finally knows what she is) to go to a Were celebration, there isn’t anything stopping her either. Plus, they need all the help they can get, just in case something does go wrong. Allison and Chris are the only two who aren’t dressed up, both wearing all black ensembles. They won’t be going inside, it’s too dangerous. If the two of them are seen, it could be seen as a threat, and all the work would be for nothing.

As they make their way into the room, the others all look up sharply. Whilst tonight there won’t be a massive demonstration, what will happen is so important, and nothing can go wrong. They are all on edge.

“You okay?” Isaac questions, looking at Derek but directing the question to both of them. They nod, even though Stiles can feel the panic seething under his skin and threatening to take hold completely.

All of them sit in silence for the next twenty minutes. In the corner, Scott and Allison are sitting close to each other, head bowed, talking quietly in hushed voices. It’s not enough, if Stiles concentrated he could probably work out what they’re saying, but he allows them their privacy.

Finally, it’s time.

Derek and Stiles get in the car, much like last time, only now Stiles doesn’t feel half an hour away from death. In fact, although he’s nervous and buzzing out of his seat with anxiety, he feels stronger than he has in months. It’s funny how a few good night’s sleep and proper nourishment can change someone’s life so drastically.

The drive to the ball is silent, much like last time, only now Stiles feels that if he wanted to talk, he could. Two, three months ago, he would have laughed at anyone who told him that now he would be living with a man who is fighting for _his_ rights, to help Stiles and other people like him. Although Stiles is still owned, and although he knows he will probably have a million things wrong with him as a result of his years spent in slavery, he knows that he is lucky. Luckier than a lot of other slaves, which is why they are doing this.

They arrive after Lydia, Isaac and Scott, keeping up appearances just like last time. The people working out front are equally as helpful as last time. Stiles’ collar itches. He hasn’t had to wear one in weeks. 

Derek leads the way up the steps. They are earlier than last time, so other Weres are still milling around, and getting out of their own cars. Every one of them startle at the sight of Derek, before nodding their heads respectfully.

At the top of the steps into the great hall, the back entrance, they are both met by Erica, and a tall muscled dark skinned man. They are holding hands, so Stiles assumes this is Erica’s fiancée, Boyd.

Erica hugs Derek, and whispers in his ear, before releasing him. She doesn’t hug Stiles, they are in full view of everyone after all, but she stretches upwards to whisper “we’ve got your backs, don’t worry.” Before releasing him also and strutting inside. Even though she’s pregnant, she’s still wearing six inch heels, and Stiles applauds her for not only managing to stay upright, but to still look sexy whilst doing so.

They wait outside, Stiles silent just like he was before, before Derek pulls in a deep breath, straightens his posture, and walks inside.

It is much the same as last time, people swarm around Derek and Stiles as if they are flies around a carcass.

Because they came round the back instead of the front, it means that the two of them have to work their way through the spinning couples and masses of people on the dance floor first, which is exactly what they want. Derek talks to more strangers and simpering Weres than he has in a very long time. There are cameras trained on them, professional ones recording everything that happens for the news channels in northern California. This is an extremely important event. It’s like the Oscars, but for Weres instead of actors.

He also introduces Stiles properly, and when one of them comments on the disaster that was the last ball (Stiles winces internally at that) Derek just shrugs and says how his slave is all better now.

The two of them circuit the floor twice, keeping an eye out for Isaac, Scott, Lydia, Erica and Boyd just in case something does go wrong. Each time he catches their eyes they nod and it fills Stiles with a little hope that at least they aren’t totally alone.

Finally, its ten minutes until midnight, and Derek excuses himself from a conversation with a _very_ willing female Beta, and makes his way up the stairs in order to speak to the crowd. When he reaches the top, the crowd goes silent, over two thousand of them in the grand hall, waiting for him to speak. Stiles stands right behind him, head down, looking just like a slave should.

This is it.

 

 

***

 

 

Derek swallows, and hopes that the rank smell of fear isn’t pouring off him like he thinks it is. Behind him, he can hear the reassuring beat of Stiles’ heart, and he uses it to anchor him in the moment, to calm him down. He takes a deep breath, and then he speaks.

“Thank you all for coming here tonight, for the annual New Year Ball. Of course, this year is even more special than usual due to the blue moon above us right now. I’m sure you can feel its effects.” At this, a few Weres throw their heads up and howl to the invisible moon above them. It’s true; Derek has felt the extra power running through him ever since darkness fell.  

“But that is not why this Ball is completely extraordinary. I know that for a long time now I have not fulfilled my duty as Alpha of Beacon Hills and the surrounding territories. Now that my uncle has passed, I will take on my role as Alpha, just as I should have done when the power was passed to me.”

There are excited murmurs through the crowd, and Derek revels in the good, strong emotions he can scent off of the crowd. “Whilst it is an Alpha’s role to protect their family and pack, it is also their duty to govern their people, and share with them the ideals that they want embodied in their territory. So now, here is the first thing I would like to say, in regards to my power, and I hope that you all take on board what I tell you, as this is important for the lives of many people in the world.”

The crowd is completely silent. Behind him, Derek can hear Stiles’ heartbeat raise slightly. It’s almost time.

“Currently, in North America, there are over fifty million humans, thirty million of which are enslaved. The Slavery Act was put in place in order to protect the huge mass of humans who live under our rule, but it becomes increasingly clear that the law is not being followed as it should, even though it is a criminal offence to disobey. Stiles, my slave behind me, has suffered brutally under the effects of past owners, and, I am ashamed to say, by me.”

Stiles steps up to Derek, and puts a hand on his shoulder, grounding Derek. Its like the air between the two of them is charged suddenly, and everything feels solid, even the oxygen that Derek is breathing in. He’s never felt like this before. He’s never felt so alive. It’s like he can simultaneously feel his heart beating, and feel the blood rushing through Stiles’ veins at the same time. It’s exhilarating. Stiles’ scent hits him like a wall, and it’s all Derek can do to not lean in, stop talking, and take deep a lungful of air. He has never smelt anything so good before, and he doesn’t understand, because he’s been living with the young man for over a month now. What has happened? In order to get his mind off it, Derek swallows and tries to ignore the boy next to him. He continues to talk, steady and slow. He needs to win the people across.

“This has to change. We have to help those who cannot help themselves. We can no longer ignore the suffering that millions of humans go through each and every day. And today, I want to swear my allegiance to this cause, and guide you all into becoming better Weres, and better people.”

The cameras trained on them are capturing every moment, even though the camera men behind them are wide mouthed in shock. Their jaws drop even more and Derek turns to face Stiles.

He looks at his slave’s face, finding comfort in the warm amber of Stiles’ eyes. Stiles nods, small enough that only he can see it, and he reaches up to the collar around his throat. Stiles’ fingers are nimble, and they tackle the clasp on the collar easily. Stiles doesn’t even hold onto the collar at all, he just lets it fall to the floor in a soft thump that seems to reverberate through the whole hall. Then, Derek slowly and very deliberately tilts his head to the side, offering his throat to Stiles in submission.

As planned, Stiles steps forward and places his teeth on the unprotected part of Derek’s neck, biting down hard enough to make it bleed a little.

What is unexpected though is the shot of arousal that pushes through Derek when he feels Stiles’ breath on his neck, and the shiver that runs through him is not unpleasant at all. Stiles’ scent fills his sinuses, and Derek agrees with the earlier thought that nothing Derek has ever smelt has been so good.

Fighting to control himself Derek turns to the audience, who are still silent in their astonishment, and takes Stiles by the hand, lifting his arm up in the air as if Stiles is a victor. Derek can still feel the blood rolling down his neck and soaking his collar.

“This is the start of a new era, a new way of thinking, and I know that I can count on you all to follow this cause, and to support me and the millions of lives that this affects. Thank you. Happy New Year everyone,” Stiles says, just as in the distance the town clock starts to strike midnight and it appears that Stiles’ voice has an equally empowering effect, and the Were’s straighten up at the sound of his voice, and _listen._

And with that, Stiles tugs on Derek’s shirt and leads them both out of the hall.

Outside, both Chris and his daughter are waiting outside, and they both sigh in relief at the fact that the two of them are unharmed.

“What happened?” Allison asks eagerly, and Derek snorts. “They’re still mostly silent inside; I think I’ve shocked them all too much. I have no idea what the consequences will be, but I hope it will be okay. I hope I have made a difference.” He adds quietly.

The four of them stand in silence for a short second, Derek almost vibrating with the need to scent Stiles again, before Chris shakes himself. “You two should leave now, just in case there are any negative responses, especially against you, Derek. We’ll stand by here, and send the Weres to you when we think everything has settled down enough. Well done Derek.” Chris finishes, and Derek can’t help but feel a spark of joy deep inside of him. He succeeded in something for once.

They jog back to the car, and Derek speeds off, still feeling uncomfortably aroused, and he hopes that Stiles can't see the erection in his tailored pants. Stiles’ scent is filling the car, and it smells absolutely amazing, like vanilla and chocolate and a hint of musk that shows his masculinity. Derek cannot believe that he could have ever ignored it before. He speeds a little more than he possibly should, but he figures Stiles will just put it down to wanting to get away from any vicious Weres instead of having a pretty big hard on.

They arrive back at the Hale Manor, and Derek rushes inside, fingers shaking as he tries to fit his keys into the lock. He needs to get away from the boy before he does something stupid.

He’s stopped however, by a hand to the wrist. He looks behind him and sees Stiles, eyes dark, and Derek _wants._ It’s like there is a cord stretched between the two of them, pulling them tight together and connecting them. The only time Derek has even felt close to this sort of thing before was when his family was still alive, and he felt connected to his pack. This is completely different; it’s overwhelming, whereas the pack bond was familiar and easy.

“You feel it too?” Stiles says, and Derek nods wordlessly, and then the two of them are kissing.

Derek has no idea who initiated the kiss; he only knows that whoever did was a very clever person, as this is the best he’s felt in months. After years of forced celibacy, and the pull of the blue moon, everything feels even more heightened than normal, and he fights for control. 

Stiles tastes as good as he smells, mouth hot and wet, teeth nipping at his lip lightly before soothing the sting with a slide of tongue. The boy pushes him up against the wall and Derek lets him, lets the boy hold onto him and kiss him with all he has.

They kiss for an unknown amount of time, it simultaneously feels like hours and seconds all at once. The urge inside Derek to go further, to mate, pulls at him and he pulls away from the wall, easily breaking the boy’s grip, before slamming the young man into the place which he just vacated.

“You feel so good,” he groans, pulling away from Stiles’ lips to attack his neck instead. Stiles’ scent is even more concentrated here, and if his cock wasn’t fully hard before, it sure as hell is now.

He keeps nipping, biting and sucking, and he feels the wolf inside of him break free, his claws growing and eyes flaring red. More. He needs more. He can feel Stiles against him, feel the warm body, the slither of the silky fabric Stiles is still wearing, the smooth brush of Stiles’ skin. All of the factors combine together, scent, touch, sound, until Derek is utterly bowed under with the weight of the sensations. It’s too much, he can’t think properly. But Derek doesn’t mind, because what he’s feeling is so good he can’t stop.

“Please,” he whimpers, licking up the side of Stiles’ face. “Please, I need you; I need your mouth, your hands anything. Just do anything, now. Just… fuck. Do it. Stop waiting.”

There’s suddenly a hand undoing his pants, and he moans at the pressure on his clothed penis. When the hot palm grasps him fully he growls, low and heady, and pushes into the palm to increase the friction.

It feels so good, so amazing, Derek hasn’t felt this way in so long. He whines, pushing closer to the body he’s trapping to the wall, nuzzling and sucking.

The palm disappears for a moment, before it returns, slightly wet with saliva, and _fuck,_ that feels even better than before. The sharp pleasure reminds him that he should probably reciprocate and so he locates Stiles’ crotch, and shoves his hand down the front of the man’s trousers. And-

He’s not hard. Stiles isn’t hard. He’s not even something that could be remotely considered erect.

Derek pushes back off of Stiles and away from the wall in horror.

“Stiles?” He whispers, and as he looks he realises the young man’s eyes are screwed shut, breath is coming in hard wild pants, and there’s a stray tear leaking down his face. Fuck.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m okay, I promise, I can continue.” Stiles says, even though he’s still crying and Derek realises that he almost raped this boy and he didn’t even realise. His dick is soft now, and Derek doesn’t feel horny at all any more. He can’t.

“No, I’m sorry,” Derek says in a low voice, and he can hear the guilt seeping into his tone. He can’t believe he’s done this. “I thought you were enjoying it, and I- fuck- I got carried away. Are you alright?” Derek takes a step towards Stiles and the young man flinches away, curling into the wall and dropping down so that he’s small and his head is turned away from Derek. He has the feeling that he’s messed up big time. It’s not even a feeling; Derek knows he’s fucked up. How could he do this?

“Fuck, Stiles.” He whimpers, and there’s pure self loathing in his tone. “Please forgive me. I’m so sorry. I don’t- I don’t know what to do. Please tell me you’re okay? Are you okay? Do you need me to leave? I can leave. If you want me to. I can’t believe I just did that to you I just…”

“No, its fine,” Stiles gasps, eyes open now, but still wide and scared. The air isn’t getting into Stiles’ lungs properly, Derek can hear it. Stiles is breathing too fast and isn’t taking in enough oxygen. “I trust you, I do, it’s just that I remembered something from before, and I thought you were someone else and I freaked. I can still feel their fingers on my skin.” He whispers and Derek wants to cry for everything that has happened to Stiles. Including him. Derek is a monster.

“I’m so sorry Stiles.” He mumbles, and clenches his fists. His fingers aren’t clawed any more, wolf subdued at the sight of Stiles’ panic, but his nails still manage to cut through Derek’s skin. They heal almost instantly, but the pain lingers. He deserves this. He deserves the pain. He wants to help Stiles, calm him down, but he knows that if he tries anything he’ll just make it worse. Just like he always does. Instead, Derek just stands there, useless, whilst Stiles gets a grip on his breathing.

It seems like hours, how Derek stands there, utterly useless, whilst Stiles gets his breathing under control and the rank scent of fear stops rolling off of him in waves. In reality, it’s less than twenty minutes, but that doesn’t matter to Derek. He’s too caught up in his head, wishing he could do better, be better. He knows that it will never happen. Derek is a mess, and he always will be.

“Derek,” Stiles’ voice suddenly cuts though his inner turmoil. “This isn’t your fault, not completely. We just need to talk through this, okay? But now, now I don’t think this is the time. Can we just forget about this now and go to bed? I think I’d feel better if we slept on it.” Stiles looks more put together now that he has calmed down a little.

Before Stiles has even finished his sentence Derek is nodding frantically. “Yes, of course, anything to help you.”

He allows Stiles to take him by the hand and follows the young man up the stairs, happy to put the boy in charge. Instead of going to Derek’s room Stiles takes them both to his own room.

When Derek tries to protest, Stiles just tightens his grip. “I’ll feel better if you stay with me.” He says, and Derek cannot argue with that. He strips, taking off everything but the under shirt and his boxer briefs that he wore under his suit. Stiles puts on his pyjamas.

The young man motions for him to get into the bed, and submissively Derek does as he is told, slinking under the covers as close to the edge as he can. He doesn’t want to accidentally touch Stiles and hurt him again.

The two lay there in the dark, before Stiles rolls over. “Please Derek, this isn’t your fault. Now, I need you to hold me, because I want to feel safe, and no matter what you may think right now, you still make me feel safer than anyone I’ve ever slept in a bed with before. Please, for me.”

Derek scoots closer into the middle, Stiles’ wish is his command, and allows the younger man to lay his head on his chest. The line running between them feels like fear, but it is over shadowed with contentment. It’s still stretched tight, and the pull makes Derek relax a little. The way it gently tugs at Derek makes him feel like the bond between them is reciprocated by Stiles.

It seems only minutes, and then Stiles’ heartbeat changes, signifying the fact that he has fallen asleep. Comforted by the fact that Stiles feels comfortable enough to fall asleep around him, after everything that has happened, Derek soon follows him.


	9. Chapter 9

 

 

Stiles wakes up feeling overly warm. He’s boiling in fact, something he’s not been used to in a very long time.

Half-heartedly, he swipes at the heat, concentrated behind him making his back sweat, until he realises that he’s lightly smacking toned muscle rather than bed sheets.

He turns, confused as hell, until he realises that Derek is stretched out behind him, body pressed close against his with one arm slung around Stiles’ stomach. He’s still asleep, drooling a little on the pillow underneath his head, and Stiles has never seen him look so peaceful.

It gives Stiles a new perspective on Derek. He’s only ever seen the man as an Alpha, or unconscious. Now, willingly in slumber, Stiles thinks he can finally start to understand his master.

Derek looks tough, heavily muscled and eyebrows permanently frowning, but this gives him a softer edge. While Stiles has slowly been realising that Derek is not like his masters before, his uncle especially, he now accepts the fact that Derek is a good man, and that Stiles finds him attractive.

Which- this is a huge deal. Stiles has never been attracted to someone before, besides the little crush on Danny all those years ago, and the feeling fills him up inside. It’s like he’s finally starting to heal. He’s finally starting to break free from the permanent forced submission, and he is learning to become his own person again. It’s a thrilling feeling.

He sits and watches Derek breathe slowly in and out, lips slightly pouted. It’s only when Derek starts to wake up that Stiles realises he’s been staring at every feature on Derek’s face for over an hour without stopping. 

Derek sighs and then blinks, eyes unfocused from sleep, but they sharpen quickly at the sight of Stiles staring at him.

“Stiles?” Derek says, starting to sit up. “Is everything okay?”

Stiles grins, stretches out his hand, and pushes Derek back down. He goes willingly, without a fuss, and Stiles’ assumptions just make even more sense now.

“I’m okay. I- listen, about last night-”

“I’m so sorry,” Derek apologises immediately, sitting back up, creating space between the two of them.

“No, it’s okay, really. What I said last night still applies now, I just… I wanted you to know that I’m not scared of you, not anymore.” Stiles swallows. He can still feel the fear from before he went into the hospital, paralysing and hideous. He doesn’t feel that way anymore, he doesn’t, but the memories still make him shiver. “But we have to talk about this. What are we? I mean, to the rest of the world I am still your slave and you can pretty much do whatever you like with me, but I feel like what we have,” he pauses, indicating to the invisible line connecting them both together. “Is more than a slave and a master together. So what’s going on?”

Derek swallows, and he ducks his head. “I don’t know what’s happening to me, I’ve never felt such a thing before. The closest I can relate it to is the bond between my packmates, but even then its different, feels different.” Derek pauses, and Stiles uses the moment to slide slowly towards the other man. He grasps Derek’s wrist, relishing in how the bond flares, before lacing their fingers together. “All I know is that I don’t see you as a slave. I see you as someone I want to protect, someone I want to know more about, someone I…”

Derek shrugs, fingers tightening around Stiles’. “I don’t know how to explain it. I would hate to demean you because of what you are. You are a good person Stiles, I can tell. And I want to- shit. I’m not good with words” He grins ruefully, and shakes his head. Stiles doesn’t mind.

“So what are we then, Derek?” he says carefully. “Are we, what? Together?” the last word comes out quiet, and Stiles is suddenly painfully shy. Is this not what Derek was getting at? Were they talking about something else? Fuck.

“Together. Together sounds good.” Derek says warmly.

“Okay.” Stiles replies. He was right after all. “I just want to make clear though…”

“I’m not considering it.” Derek says before Stiles has even finished his sentence. “You need to heal, and not physically. I want this to be special, and I don’t want the fact that I technically own you to affect our relationship. I don’t want to do something wrong, or be wrong or hurt you. This is special, you know? I want it to be special.”

Stiles is stunned into silence. Although he knows that Derek is different, he just doesn’t expect this sort of attitude. “Really? You’d wait? For me?”

Derek’s face softens, and he lightly tugs on Stiles’ arm, pulling them together. “I’d wait a very long time for you, Stiles.”

He stares up at the Alpha’s eyes, marvelling at the beautiful colour, before leaning in. Derek meets the kiss, and it’s soft, completely unlike last night. It’s sweet, and sappy, but the thrill that runs through Stiles is unlike anything he has ever felt before, and he wants nothing but to feel it forever.

For the first time in his life, Stiles actually feels positive about the future.

 

 

 

***

 

 

Derek makes them both brunch, and they sit at the breakfast bar, legs swinging and intertwining with each other whilst they eat happily. Its only when Stiles is clearing the plates away that he gets a sudden thought.

“Derek, have you looked at the news yet?”

Recognition slowly dawns in his eyes and Derek rushes off to turn on the TV.

What they see is… indescribable. The news anchor tells them of various riots starting up around the country, started by Weres and humans alike. Peaceful protests taking place in the streets. The beta who is reporting looks shocked at the news she’s giving. Apparently the push for human freedom is stronger than first thought.

One of the videos shows a woman, a human, showing the scars from an earlier ownership. Her wrists are wrecked from being kept in heavy chains. Another anchor shows a demonstration in San Francisco, one Were next to another freed slave, the sign on their shared board reading ‘No Human should be without rights’. A chat show is talking to a human male and a beta woman who wished to get married but are unable to due to the fact that it’s illegal to marry if one is enslaved. Each station however keeps returning to ‘Alpha Derek Hale’ and his currently unnamed human. The shot of Stiles biting Derek is played over and over, and Stiles can't quite get his head around the fact that Stiles is on state television.

Over the course of twenty four hours, Derek and Stiles have managed to change everything.

“Quick!” Stiles hisses, slapping Derek on the arm. “Check your phone! What if someone’s called us?”

Derek darts to find his phone, thanking everything known to man when it lights up as it still has charge. He has fifty eight missed calls, thirty two voicemails, and one hundred and seven texts.

The first number he sees is Argents, so he immediately calls him.

“Argent.” The voice says curtly.

“Sorry Chris, I was asleep, I-”

“Derek! Have you seen the news? We did it kid!” Chris’ voice lights up instantly, and Derek can hear the passion and the pride in his voice. “The uproar we’ve had has been absolutely incredible, I cannot believe it! I’ve been organising a public march in the next month or so, and this outburst is exactly what we needed. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” As Derek talks, he makes his way back to where Stiles is sitting still avidly watching the television. He sits next to the man on the sofa and allows Stiles to make his own way into Derek’s arms. He’s a comforting weight that Derek clings to.

“Now, you’re going to be pulled under by the press. Lydia’s going to come over in a bit to go over acceptable things for you to say. Of course, it’s mainly going to be points you’ve already raised, but I thought you might like to have some guidance. How is Stiles? Is he coping?”

Derek is a little taken aback. He didn’t know Argent cared so much. “Stiles is good. Really good actually. We talked through everything, so… yeah. We’re happy. Would you like me to put him on the phone?”

Argent laughs a little. “Its fine, I’ll leave you two be for now. Remember, Lydia will be over at about three.” The line goes dead.

The next person he calls is Erica, because he knows she’s going absolutely mental. As predicted, Erica screams incoherently at him for about five minutes until Boyd takes the phone off her and chats idly to Derek until she calms down.

“I can’t believe what’s happening Derek,” she says breathlessly into the receiver. Derek stares at his face emblazoned across his television screen. He can't quite believe himself, yet he can still remember the arousing feel of Stiles’ teeth against his neck. The mark is gone now, healed up, but Derek can still feel the remnants of a scar between his ear and collarbone.

“Neither can I. but this is the best thing that could have happened to us. Sure, there are equal amounts of people against us, but so many people have come out and supported us and its- fuck. It’s amazing to see. I feel like I’m finally doing something with my life.”

“I’m proud of you Dee,” Erica says warmly, and Derek can’t help but feel a little proud of himself.

 

 

 

***

 

 

The next three weeks pass in relative bliss. Each time they leave the house, (admittedly, not often) they are accosted by reporters and paparazzi trying to get some more information out of Derek and Stiles. Each time, Derek gives a little variation of what he’s said before, (thanks to Lydia and her brutal lessons in how to talk on camera and not sound stupid) before pushing past them and refusing to reply any longer.

Stiles is touched by the amount of support. One day, Stiles is walking through a park to get back to the house and two women come up to him, thanking him for taking a stand for what is right. They cry before him, one giving him a photo of her daughter that she never saw again because she was human. They ask him to keep it, to remember what he is fighting for. Stiles comes home that day and cries in Derek’s arms for all that has been lost through the years due to slavery

Despite this, it only makes Stiles surer that what Derek and Stiles are doing is right. They even manage to get a spot on a high profile chat show, Stiles telling them about his life and how he was taken into slavery. By the end he has Derek, the host, and the crowd in tears. He knows what he is saying is pretty much emotional blackmail, but he will take what he can get.

It’s the twenty second of January, and Stiles is in the house, looking over a book on human/Were politics. Derek and Isaac are in the room next to him discussing what to do next. Derek wants to go public nationally, stating his allegiance to human rights, and Isaac is trying to help his achieve his goal. Everyone is.

It’s quiet, until Stiles hears the doorbell go. He calls out; “I’ll get it!” before setting the large book on the settee beside him and makes his way to the door. When he opens the door, he’s met with a man. This has become fairly routine over the past couple of weeks, but the fact that most people don’t actually know where Derek lives means that they’re usually undisturbed.

He knows this man. Stiles knows this man.

The man’s eyes water, and suddenly he’s crying.

“I thought it was too good to be true, but it’s not, it’s true. Oh my god.” The man sobs, and it’s all very confusing. Is this really happening? Is what Stiles thinks is happening actually happening? Is this?

“Sheriff,” Derek says, and Stiles thanks him for taking over. He doesn’t really know what to do right now. “Are you alright?”

“I’ve never been better, Sir.” The man says, before taking a small step forward. “I just… Stiles. My Stiles. _Przemysław._ ”

As soon as Stiles hears his name, his real name, it’s like the ground has dropped out from underneath him. He stumbles backwards and allows himself to be caught be Derek, who hisses a worried “Stiles? What’s going on?” into his ear. Ever since his dream when he was ill he hoped that what happened was real, that his mother was telling the truth, that it wasn’t just a hallucination. That his father was, somehow, somewhere, alive.

“Dad?” The word comes out weak and choked, but the older man hears easily. He nods, still crying and then Stiles is tugging himself out of Derek’s arms and into his fathers.

It’s been well over ten years since he’s felt his parent’s arms around him, and fuck if it doesn’t feel like he’s coming home. He’s dreamed of this, for months, for years. Dreamed of being able to see his family once more.

It got harder, the longer he was enslaved. He had nothing to remember them by, and slowly it got harder to remember who they were, what they looked like. The dream reminded him a little, but that’s all it was. A dream.

This is real.

His father holds him tight, and the way he smells brings so many memories back. Of him teaching Stiles to read, telling Stiles how much he loved him. The time before everything went wrong.

He grips tighter, knows he’s crying now too, and feels the arms shift in response. He thought this day would never come, and now it has he doesn’t know quite what to do.

“Dad.” He pushes out again, and it sounds so broken, but it’s real.

He pushes himself back so that he can look at his father properly. Everything that was blurred before now comes swimming back in high definition. The colour of his dad’s eyes. His proud face.

This is the greatest day Stiles has ever known.

“I missed you Dad.” He says, and his father smiles, tears still streaming down his face.

“I missed you too son. I can't… I can't believe you’re alive. I saw you on the news, that’s how I knew, and I had to- I had to come see you. See that you’re okay. See you again. God, I’ve missed you so much.”

They hug again, with no less feeling, and when Stiles turns back round to face Derek he sees that his boyfriend has tears in his eyes.

“Derek,” Stiles says, holding onto his father’s hand. He still can't quite believe he’s real. “I want you to meet my father. Dad, this is my Derek.”

His dad starts to bow his head in deference, but he stops when Derek grasps his hand and bows instead. 

“It is an honour to meet you sir.” Derek sounds truly awed to meet Stiles’ parents, and it makes Stiles happy to see how caring, and how much Derek feels for him.

His dad looks surprised at the events. “John. Please call me John.”

“Please come in,” Derek says.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Derek has never seen Stiles look so happy. He’s smiling, a wide grin stretching across his face, and he can’t stop staring at the man in front of him. He keeps touching John too, mainly John’s hands. Derek knows that it’s just to make sure that he isn’t dreaming. Isaac left not long after John arrived, realising how intense the emotions in the house were. He gives Stiles a quick hug though, and congratulates him quietly.

They talk for hours, Stiles telling him about what he’d been though after he’d been taken (Derek notices he leaves out all the really gory details) and the Sheriff recounts how after Stiles went missing he and his wife tried everything they could in order to find him. However, they never found anything, because they were only human.

As much as Derek wants to stay, to hear more about Stiles’ father’s life, he excuses himself, asking if anyone wants takeaway.

He’s never actually had the stuff before, but John looks rather enthusiastic, so in order to get away; let Stiles and his dad have some proper family bonding time, Derek takes it upon himself to buy some pizza.

He drives around the majority of Beacon Hills aimlessly, until he focuses. He drives round again, picking out which pizza takeout smells the least like grease and disgusting food. Finally he comes across one that looks nice, but still like they do decent sized portions.

Inside he orders four pizzas, one each for Stiles and John, and two for himself. It doesn’t really bother Derek, he has enough money to buy himself more than enough food, but the monotony of having to eat so much to keep him alive really irritates him after a while.

He waits another twenty minutes while they cook, signing a couple over napkins for the people owning the place when they realise who he is, something that never ceases to amaze him as he always wonders why someone would want his autograph.

He’s making his way into the back alley where he parked the Camaro, pizza boxes in one hand and keys in the other when he hears a sound.

It’s quiet otherwise, at least as quiet as it can be for an Alpha. He can hear a couple having rather kinky sex three blocks away. But the noise, it’s followed by nothing, and that puts Derek’s hackles up.

The next thing he knows, there’s a sharp prick in his neck and a heavy blow to his head, and everything goes black in a confusing, disjointed swirl.

 

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

 

TRIGGER WARNING: this chapter contains graphic descriptions of torture and blood, please proceed with care!

 

 

The rise back into consciousness is one filled with hazy noises, blurred surroundings, and achy pain. His arms and wrists feel like they are on fire, as do his ankles. It doesn’t bode well.

It’s about four minutes, Derek reckons although he may be wrong, before he has a clear grasp on what’s going on. He’s pretty sure there’s someone in the room with him, so he doesn’t want to open his eyes until he’s ready. He tries unobtrusively to move, but quickly figures that he’s been strapped down onto a table or a bed. He doesn’t know what’s pinning him, but it seems strong. Strong enough to hold an Alpha, anyway.

He was drugged, he can tell that much. While he’s been knocked unconscious many times before it’s never felt as bewildering and indistinct as it does now. It scares him; he doesn’t know what’s going on, why he was taken. The surroundings smell unfamiliar, he could be anywhere. For all he knows, he could be out of the country. Fuck.

Finally, he accepts defeat and opens his eyes, blinking at the sudden influx of light. It appears that he’s in some kind of medical facility, yet at the same time it looks too… wrong to be a hospital. It’s like someone has taken an abandoned building, and used the basement for medical research. Except the abandoned warehouse seems to have a bank vault heavy duty door on the front. It doesn’t make sense. This does not exactly make Derek feel very comfortable.

“About time.” The words come, and Derek snaps his head to the side. There’s a young man stood, leaning near the door. He looks familiar, Derek has met him before.

“I thought that maybe I had overestimated the dose I needed, but it seems like I wasn’t too wrong. You might be a little woozy for a while, so sorry about that.” The man doesn’t sound sincere at all.

“Who are you? Why did you take me?”

The young man looks incredulous. He looks manic, unstable, and out of control.

“Isn’t it obvious? Because of all the things you’ve done. I deserve revenge. They deserve revenge. He deserves someone to do what he could not.”

Derek is so confused. This guy doesn’t make sense. What the hell is happening?

“Who needs revenge?” He asks, still subtly pulling at the bands holding him. Looking down he groans internally. He realises now why everything hurts so much, why he can’t seem to find the strength to move. The ropes are laced with wolfsbane, purple flowers peeking through the strands.

“Why, Peter of course.” It hits Derek then, who this guy is. It’s one of Peter’s slaves, the one who brought Stiles in when it was Derek’s birthday. “Don’t you know what you’ve done? Peter may have been cruel but he treated me well. I was his favourite. I did everything for him and he loved me. But you? You ruined everything, killing him. I was lost, I had no family anymore. I’m just lucky that I still had a purpose. And that purpose was finding you and avenging my lord.”

Matt stalks forward and Derek realises that he has a knife in his hand, serrated on one side. It won’t kill him if Matt doesn’t get his heart or cut his head off, but it will sure hurt like hell. The young man walks to the side of the table, knife trailing up Derek’s leg, torso, until it is held right underneath his chin.

“Tell me Derek,” the boy hisses, digging the knife further into Derek’s throat. “How would you like to die? To suffer? Would it make you suffer more if you knew that as soon as I’m finished with you I’d move onto your little bitch slave?”

Derek roars and tries to shift. He manages to turn his eyes, but the wolf can’t come through completely with the amount of wolfsbane on him. The knife digs a little deeper and Derek can feel it break the skin. The scent of blood immediately fills the air.

“Not so fast Matthew.”

A smooth voice sounds, one Derek has heard before, and he shivers. “You’ve done as we asked, Matt. Now step down and leave the talking to, well, the grown ups. You are dismissed.”

Matt snarls at Derek, face eerily animalistic for a human. Nevertheless, he removes the knife from Derek's neck and steps back, allowing Derek to see who has just entered the room. There are five of them, one standing out among the rest. Derek knew at some point he would be confronted by him, he just thought it would be a little more civil. Apparently, he thought wrong.

“Derek Hale. How are you?” The voice is clipped, accented.

“Could be better. Do you think you could get these ropes off of me? I would really appreciate it.”

The older man chuckles, and starts to snap up his walking stick. It’s hypnotising.

“No Derek, I don’t think I will. You see, we have a lot to talk about don’t we? I’m sure you knew your little stunt wouldn’t go unseen, now didn’t you?”

“I did it because I knew what was right, Deucalion.” Derek snarls, and pulls at the bonds again. He is nothing compared to the power of the Demon Wolf, yet he still has to try. Behind the man, Kali laughs at his futile attempts to get free.

“No Derek, you didn’t do what was right. You made us look weak. You made us look like we care.”

The man snaps his sight stick out again. “You gave the vermin hope.”

“And they deserve it!” Derek yells, pulling at the bonds. “They deserve their freedom! We are alike; we just have other parts of us! They are just as necessary to the world as we are, so why should we put them down for reasons unknown?”

“We have reasons Derek,” says Kali, walking forward with her toenails clacking on the hard concrete floor. “Those reasons are that we are superior and humans are not essential.”

Derek can feel his face twist in disgust. Sure he never used to care that much about the human population but he would never exterminate an entire race just because they got in the way. “You sicken me. And you call yourselves the leaders of the Were nation?”

Deucalion smirks. “We don’t call ourselves leaders. We are leaders. And we will stop at nothing in order to stay that way. Of course, lowly Alphas of small packs like yours don’t really concern us too much, but you have far too much support considering how insignificant you really are. Hence, the kidnapping. Poor Matt was very eager to harm you in some way, it seems like the so called ‘Stockholm syndrome’ really has a hold on him. In fact, I might allow him to spend some quality time with you, how does that sound?”

“Go fuck yourself.” Derek snarls, though inside he’s freezing in fear because he knows there’s nothing left that’s good in that man anymore.

“Touchy, touchy. Well Derek, we’ll be back soon. I’d tell you to enjoy your stay but I have a feeling you won’t.”

As the five of them walk out, the tall man- Ennis, Derek’s mind supplies- snarls, mouth stretched into a smirk.

As they leave, Matt comes in, thanking Deucalion and his pack over and over again. He’s still holding the knife, Derek notes. He also appears to have a gun, and various other torture instruments on a tray. This is going to be a long, painful evening.

 _Please help me,_ he thinks, trying his hardest to get the thought out but he knows it’s useless. 

He starts screaming when Matt pulls out his second claw.

 

 

***

 

 

Stiles is waiting with his father for Derek to come back, sharing stories and memories from before Stiles was taken. It’s only when his dad says, “How long has it been since Derek left?” that Stiles realises something is wrong.

By the time he realises that, Derek’s been gone three and a half hours, but they decide to wait a little longer just in case he got side tracked. By the seven hour mark, Stiles is officially worried, and so he calls up Isaac, Erica, Lydia and Scott, in order to get them to help.

All of them show up within half an hour, Allison and her father tagging along as Scott was round their house at the time.

“What’s wrong?” Lydia says, hanging up her Prada bag on the unused hat stand in the hallway. “Not that I don’t mind our group meetings but I had a date with a really attractive guy and I don’t want to let him down. And yes, I know it’s late. Don’t judge me. And who is this?” she says, motioning to Stiles’ dad as he appears from the kitchen.

Even though everything seems to be going to shit all of a sudden, Stiles can’t help but smile. “Everyone, this is my dad. He, uh, he saw me on TV and he knew he had to find me so… he’s the sheriff of the human commune fifty miles from here.”

Erica and Isaac are welcoming, and his dad greets everyone. Lydia give him a once over and then nods primly. Chris and Allison just nod their heads respectfully.

“Hey, where’s Derek?” Scott says, putting his hands in his pockets. “I’m surprised he hasn’t said hello.”

Just like that, the bottom of his stomach drops away. He swallows and his mouth feels too wet, like he’s about the throw up. “That’s why I called you all here. He’s been gone for a while now. I’m worried for him.”

“Where was he going?” Allison asks, whilst Chris reaches into his jacket and pulls out a handgun.

“Just to get some food. Do you think you can track his scent?” He asks Isaac, Erica and Scott, who nod immediately and go to leave the house again.

“Wait!” Lydia says, and the three of them pause in putting on their coats.

“What is it Lydia?” Allison questions, moving closer to the girl. Lydia appears not to notice, eyes unfocused and hazy.

“He’s not here. He’s gone. I can’t… I don’t know where he is exactly, there’s something stopping me from listening but I…” she pauses and throws he hands up to her mouth, tightly clutching her face. She suddenly goes to collapse but Stiles’ dad manages to catch her before she falls on the floor.

Stiles just wants to know what the hell is happening. “What is it Lydia?” He demands. “Please! I need him, I-”

“He’s in so much pain,” she whispers, and every person in the whole room draws in their breath. Lydia seems focused on the front door, eerily so, and its making Stiles feel uncomfortable. He thinks he might need to sit down. “Everything’s hurting so much and he can’t, he can’t do anything. He’s looking at the door but he can’t move. He can’t…” She suddenly sits up and gets to her feet, slowly moving towards to door. She sways a little, but no-one attempts to hold her. It almost looks like she’s studying the wood grain on the ornate front door.

“He’s in a warehouse, I don’t know where. He’s cold and tired and he’s in pain. That’s all I can tell you.” She sags, but manages to keep herself upright.

Stiles wishes, he wishes so much that Lydia could tell them more, but he’s thankful that at least they have some idea.

“Do you think we should call the police? Have them on the lookout for Derek and his scent?” Erica asks.

Chris shakes his head immediately. “If we do that, it’ll draw attention to us. We don’t need that. What we need to do is compile a list of every empty building or warehouse in Beacon Hills and the surrounding area, and search each one. By my reckoning, it hasn’t been too long since he got taken and as he’s already locked up somewhere he can’t be too far away. Can you all do that? Scott and Isaac, you go out and see if you can catch a scent. We need to act fast.” 

As one, all of them jump into action.

 

 

***

 

 

Matt is vicious in a way that Derek never knew someone could really be until now. 

Big chunks of flesh are missing from his body, gouged out by Matt’s knife, and he’s bleeding profusely. He doesn’t have any fingernails left; they’ve all been pulled out.

As it is, Matt is puttering about the room, talking to himself quietly and laughing occasionally. Derek fears these grim walls will be the last things he sees.

He hears an “aha!” from the man behind him, and he winces in pain before the horror even starts.

“Now Derek,” Matt says, walking round so Derek can see his face. Since he’s been in here he’s been pulled off of the table and strung up using the wolfsbane laced ropes around his wrists, attached to the ceiling above. “I want you to be very good, okay? What you have to do is count every time I hit you. If you don’t, I’ll add another five to the list. Do you understand?”

Derek nods painfully. He doesn’t know what he’s going to be it with until he hears a swish through the air and then lightning pain echoing across his back. It’s worse than anything he’s felt before.

“You didn’t count Derek! Five more. Count.”

The lancing pain strikes his back again and he sobs out, “One! N- No two.”

“Look at you, stuttering. Not the big bad alpha so much now are you?”

“Three.” He wails in agony. He's not tough. He can't be tough, not anymore.

It’s thirty seven stokes later when Matt finally puts down the whip. Derek can feel the blood running down his back and legs onto the floor. For the first time in his life, he feels like he’s not going to heal from an injury. He’s never felt pain like it. He almost passed out at one point, but Matt jolts him awake with a bucket full of wolfsbane laced water. That was around stroke fifteen. Derek’s just glad he had his eyes and mouth shut. 

He doesn’t think he can take much more.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

The search brings back nothing; all Scott says is that round a pizza place his nose felt funny and wrong. 

When they finish compiling the list, they find out there’s over fifty different locations in Beacon Hills alone where Derek could be kept. Stiles just wants to sit down and cry, but he knows that’s the most unproductive thing to do _ever_ , so he puts his big boy pants on and gets to work.

He’s in the Camaro with Lydia, Scott squeezed into the back. They are making their way around every abandoned location within Beacon Hills, checking it out. They’ve gone through thirty so far. Stiles is very aware that every second that ticks away from them is a second where Derek could be getting hurt.

It’s been eleven hours since Derek left the house.

It’s now late at night, or very early in the morning, depending on how one looks at it. There are very few people out, and that makes Stiles feel a little more comfortable, Stiles isn’t wearing his collar, and he could get into deep shit for that.

They’re slowly making their way down a block, one from the more run down parts of town. It seems like they’re doing nothing, like it’s not helping. Like Stiles is just worthless.

Scott suddenly stops them, hand across Lydia’s front, preventing her from moving.

“That smell. The one that hurt my nose. It’s in here.”

They look up and the words ‘Beacon Hills First National Bank’ stand out at them.

“Are you sure?” Stiles says. He doesn’t want the hope to get to him. This is the biggest lead they’ve had since Lydia at midnight last night.

“Yeah.” Scott breathes out. “It hurts, just like before. It’s stronger here though, like, way stronger. If I had to guess, he’d be in here.”

“Okay,” Stiles says, lowering his voice just in case Derek’s captors are in there. “We’re gonna call up everyone, let them get here, with a floor plan of the place, then go in all guns blazing. You got it?” 

The other two nod. It has begun.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Matt goes off to sleep, during which time Derek is allowed a little time without the constant pain. The only problem is, he’s not healing, not at all. The cuts and deep wounds aren’t closing up one bit, and they all throb in unison. He’s losing too much blood, and he knows he isn’t going to last much longer.

After a small period of time, Matt comes back, opening the heavy, heavy door and leaving it open. Ennis, the tall Were comes in with him. He smirks at the sight of Derek.

“Missed me?” He mocks. Derek doesn’t even have the strength to spit in his face.

Matt ignores him, and goes over to the other side of the room. “I wasn’t going to use this, seemed a little too hunter-like for me, you know? But Ennis says it really tickles.”

He walks over to Derek and straps something to his side, securing it with tape. It has wires leading off of it, and Derek moans. No way. 

There’s a brief moment of silence and then the hum of electricity fills the air.

It shocks Derek, how much it hurts. He knows at the back of his mind that it would be agony, but the pain courses wholly through him, from the tips of his toes to the top of his head.

Ennis steps forward then, when the jolt has mostly left his body, with his claws out. He sets his fingers at the top of Derek’s shoulders and then rips downwards, slicing ten lines onto the front of Derek's body.

He steps back, and the electrocution begins again.

This happens three more times, and Derek’s front is no longer recognisable as his. Derek’s just about to pass out, for the last time he hopes, when he distantly hears shouts and a lone, piercing scream. He doesn’t know who’s screaming but he knows, just from that sound, that someone is going to die tonight.

There’s commotion, Ennis suddenly looks scared. He attempts to run out of the room, but he’s shot by an arrow. Argents. Ennis tries to keep going, but he’s shot by another arrow, and another, and then Derek sees Chris from the open door shoot Ennis twice in the face and again right in the heart. He won’t be getting up from that.

Matt is cowering in a corner. All Derek can think is, ‘thank god I’m not alone anymore’.

The last thing he sees before he cannot hold his eyes open anymore, is a familiar lanky figure stumbling into the room, face wide with terror. 

He can’t keep himself awake any longer, and so he lets himself drift away to a place where nothing hurts anymore. It’s peaceful.

 

 

***

 

 

When Chris and Allison arrive all of them are camped out in a building a block over from the bank, in order to get their shit together. Pretty quickly it becomes clear that Stiles, Chris and Stiles’ dad are the strategists, and the others wait anxiously until they know what to do, Lydia piping up every so often with a good idea.

They send Isaac off to grab some supplies, (it’s all in my house, says Lydia, I like to experiment at home) and he’s back before long with the ingredients to make a Molotov cocktail. They make four, one for Lydia, one for the sheriff, one for Stiles and one spare.

The argents have bought whatever weapons they could find on short notice, which is a hell of a lot of weapons. They plead Erica to stay out of the fighting, and she only agrees when they give her the equally important job of staying back and calling for help if necessary.

Finally, they go in.

Half of them sneak round the back, the others; Chris, Scott, Boyd, Stiles and Allison go round the front. They smash open the door and immediately start fire.

The alpha twins are out the front, completely unaware of the imminent attack. They get shot down. They aren’t dead, but they are no longer a threat.

Without knowing exactly who else was in the place, Chris continues on slowly, moving round every corner with silent tension. It’s not until they see the open bank vault door do they open fire again.

It’s then that Stiles sees Derek for the first time. He waits until they’ve stopped fire and then runs forward, ignoring the human in the corner who’s curled up as small as possible.

Stiles looks at Derek in horror. He’s dead. He must be. Nobody could look so battered, so bloody, without being dead. Stiles holds his hands up to Derek’s left wrist, hands shaking as he does so and miraculously, Derek seems to have a pulse. It’s weak, almost non existent, but it’s there and that’s all Stiles needs.

The cords holding Derek up appear to be burning his skin so he quickly undoes the knot, babbling under his breath as he does so. It’s a litany of “please don’t die, you can’t die, Derek please wake up” and then Derek slumps onto him, knocking the two of them to the ground.

He needs to get out of here, fast. He doesn’t know if there are any more threats. Stiles grabs Derek's arms, apologizing for the pain, and heaves the two of them upright, staggering under his Alpha’s weight. The others are gone, and Stiles quickly makes his way over to the vault door and pulls Derek over, mindful of his many injuries. Derek doesn’t stir.

He gets halfway through the building, the front door in sight when he hears a tapping noise.

“Going somewhere?” A British voice asks, and Stiles slowly turns around, filled with dread. He was so close.

There’s a man and a woman, as well as the two twins Stiles thought were taken down. They grin at him, and at the nod of the blind man they shift and grasp each others arms. As Stiles looks on in disgust they merge into one. It’s horrifying yet Stiles can’t seem to look away.

“So,” the blind man says, stick tapping on the floor. “You’re the little human who has been giving us so much trouble lately. We really don’t like you at all.”

Stiles snarls, and adjusts his grip on Derek. He can hear the man wheezing, panting for breath and he knows he doesn’t have much time. He’d make a break for the entrance, but he’d never get there quick enough.

“Well, I don’t really like you much either.” He says between clenched teeth. Where is everybody?

The woman beside him growls. “That’s the attitude that got you in trouble in the first place.” She says, and the man just mutters “Down, Kali.” And the woman moves back, chastened.

“We’re going to teach you a lesson, young man,” The alpha says, as he lifts his glasses up to reveal wide, red eyes. “And that lesson is to not mess with the hierarchy. And as a human, you are at the bottom of the ladder.”

The one giant twin snarls and moves forward and then there’s a voice from behind the alphas.

“Well maybe we need a change in the system, did you think about that?” Lydia yells, before throwing the Molotov cocktail. It hits Kali and she shrieks in pain, arms moving futilely, trying to stop the flames. She falls to the floor, and then topples over, fire still consuming her body.

The others appear, and then suddenly there’s war, right in front of Stiles’ eyes. He can’t look away for a long, long second, until Isaac yells at him, “Stiles! Go!”

He grasps hold of Derek’s arm and yanks him, pulling him towards the entrance.

Ten steps, five steps and then he’s outside, lungs and arms burning with the strain. Erica is waiting outside worriedly, and when she sees Stiles she rushes over, micro skirt seeming to have no restriction of her movements. When she sees the state Derek’s in she whines, long and low before calling 911 and collapsing at her Alpha’s side.

The two of them sit there, shell shocked, on the pavement by the bank, whilst the sounds of a fight rage on behind them.

Suddenly, it’s quiet.

Erica and Stiles both stiffen, and slowly turn around, so that their backs are no longer facing the front door of the hellhole. They wait, clutching each other, Erica’s hand around Stiles’ so tight her engagement ring breaks his skin, until Allison walks through the door, face bloody.

“It’s done.” She says simply, and opens to door fully.

Boyd is carrying Lydia silently, who seems to be unconscious. Stiles panics for a moment that she’s… but then she groans and lifts her head up and Stiles relaxes a little. All of them walk out of the door, some worse off than others, but they are all alive.

“We made it,” Scott says, smile across his face. He’s holding onto Isaac, the two of them clutching each other like they’re each others life lines, but they look okay.

They all look okay, until Lydia is set down gently by Boyd and gasps.

“Oh god,” she says, hands flying up to her mouth, far too similar to her movements only hours earlier for her liking. “Oh god, no.”

She stumbles forwards towards where Stiles and Erica are sitting, and then Stiles glances down.

Derek’s lips are purple, and he has the distinct pallor of someone who has stopped breathing.

Ambulance sirens wail in the distance.

 

 

 

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

 

He’s been in this situation before, only the roles are reversed. He can smell the slick and uncomfortable smell of a hospital and it seems to grate even more than it did as a patient.

Stiles is sitting next to the man who’s technically his master, but in reality he hasn’t been owned for a while now.

It’s strange, strange to think that he was once scared of the man sitting in the bed beside him, looking oh so pale and ill and dead. Derek’s not healing. It seems strange to think that an Alpha, someone like Derek, could be so kind towards a lowly human like Stiles. He’s never seen such kindness before. Every master he’s ever had, every Were, has treated him like the dirt he knows he resembles. Every one of them has hurt him, whether physically or emotionally. He feels a connection to this man, one that he’s never felt before. A pull, connecting him to Derek, leading out of his chest into the other mans. He cannot tell if it’s organic, if it’s real, or if it’s just Stiles trying to stay close to the one owner who’s treated him like an equal.

And that’s it really. All Stiles has ever done is respect his master, fear his master, hold his master higher than anything else in the world, while he himself is treated like shit. Yet now, he feels like Derek respects him, respects him in the way Stiles wants to be respected. It’s thrilling, and scary, and so damn good Stiles doesn’t ever want to let it go.

 And now, the one man who has ever been kind to him since he was taken is lying in a hospital bed, on his side because the whip marks on his back are too bad to lie on, and he isn’t healing. He isn’t getting better. The marks, stitched up, are still being held together by the sutures. He still needs a machine to help him breathe, an IV to give him the necessary fluids to keep him alive. Stiles is scared.

He doesn’t know how to help Derek, how to help the ache in his chest that screams _Wrong! Wrong! Wrong!_ Like his body seems to know that Derek isn’t getting better, like his body is reacting apart from his head. He tries to drown it out, tries to stop the feeling but it’s niggling, it’s there, and he can't help but notice it.

None of the doctors can understand why Derek isn’t healing. They think they only reason is that Derek’s injuries are so bad that he can’t heal from them. A beta certainly would have died, but that doesn’t make sense for Derek. The IV was meant to have been pushed out a couple of hours ago by Derek’s healing, but it’s still working as it should. Stiles has been awake for thirty five hours now, and his eyes itch so badly he can barely keep them open.

The door opens, and it’s not the doctor like Stiles expects, but Deaton, the one who helped Derek the last time he was injured. Behind him are Scott, and Isaac, both of them looking worried and tired. They look how Stiles feels, except a million times better. Stiles feels wrecked.

Stiles sighs, and hunches further into the bed. He reaches over to hold Derek’s hand, but thinks better of it.

“Hello Stiles, how are we today?” Comes the calm, collected voice that makes Stiles want to rage.

“Not great, thanks, as I’m sure you can tell.” He replies, and for once he doesn’t try to hide the bitter sarcasm from his voice. He doesn’t care anymore; he just wants Derek to get better.

“Yes, it does appear that we have a situation on our hands. Tell me Stiles, and I need you to tell me this very truthfully, do you feel a sort of… connection to Alpha Hale?”

Stiles sits up, eyeing Deaton suspiciously. How did he know?

“What kind of connection? What are you talking about? I thought that you were here to make Derek better?” He’s accusing, but he feels he’s at least a little justified.

“I’m asking you this, because I think you’re the only one who can save Derek, Stiles.”

Stiles chokes for a moment because however great Derek has been, Stiles still has cripplingly low self esteem. “Me. A lowly human. Can save an Alpha with no medical experience. Are you serious?”

Deaton's features are unchanged, passive. “Deadly.”

All Stiles can think is that he hopes that word isn’t the outcome of today.

“Stiles, I need you to tell me now, do you feel a connection? It won’t feel like an emotion, it will literally feel like you’re connected to him.”

Stiles is silent, staring down at the motionless form in front of him. Even now, he can feel the pull between them.

“Stiles?”

“I feel it.” He replies immediately. “It’s like a pull. It only started feeling like this a couple of weeks ago though.”

“When did it start?” Deaton asks seriously.

Stiles knows, he knows the exact moment he felt the rush of Derek inside of him, so innocent but so fulfilling.

“New Year’s Ball.”

Deaton sits back, completely satisfied, apparently. “Just as I thought,” He muses. “You two share a Mating bond. It only happens with Alphas, and only when there has been a bite. In the case of you and Derek, you two quite literally announced your relationship on public television. The fact that you bit him and not the other way round shows your domination over him, which I imagine is why there has been such an outcry.”

Stiles can’t hold it in any longer. “But what does this have to do with helping Derek? I don’t understand! Just because I can feel him doesn’t mean I can save him!”

“Wrong,” Deaton replies. “Derek at the moment is quite simply stopping himself from healing. He has the power to save himself, but he’s holding it back for unknown reasons. You can help him, Stiles, you just need to do as I say.”

He’s desperate. “Anything, tell me what to do.”

Deaton's face grows even more serious, if that’s even possible. “It’s dangerous Stiles, perhaps even deadly, for you and for Derek. You need to see the whole picture. Do you still agree, knowing that there may be bad consequences?”

Stiles nods without a thought. If this is the only way to save Derek then he will do it.

“We’ll need Scott for this then. Scott? Can you help me out here? I’ll need your claws.”

The man in question looks up in confusion, and then his face drains of colour. “You don’t mean…”

Deaton sighs, before moving from Derek’s pale still form to the tan man. “Yes, Scott, I do. You can do it, I will guide you.”

Scott stares at Deaton for a moment before ducking his head. “Sure thing, Deaton.”

“Right,” Deaton says, rubbing his hands together. “I need Derek to be sitting upright, with Stiles next to him.”

Isaac hastens to comply, and lightly tugs Derek up, mindful of his wounds, so that he is in a sitting position. They move the bed forward so that Scott can get behind them both.

“Are you ready?” Deaton asks Stiles. Stiles doesn’t know. He’s terrified, hands shaking and he can’t seem to stop them. But he needs to do this. He nods decisively.

“Okay Scott.”

There’s a sudden intense burning sensation at the back of his neck, about as painful as the time Peter whipped his feet until they were raw and bloody. The pain is gone as quickly as it comes though, and then Stiles is pulled into darkness.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Derek wakes up in his old house, the one that he rebuilt after the fire.

For a moment, he feels utterly at peace, like it’s an average morning like when he was sixteen years old, and he woke up late after a hard week at school.

Then the memories come flooding back.

He jerks upright, staring at the walls around him in shock. It’s his room, his old room at least, down to the rather embarrassing Pokémon poster he had but never took down because it looked totally awesome.

He looks down at his body, and he’s still 22, he’s just not in the right place. Slowly, he pushes the covers off of him and makes his way across the room, feet bare and light on the wooden floor.

He opens the door and makes his way downstairs, listening out for anybody. He can hear voices, very familiar ones at that, but he doesn’t want to second guess himself.

Abandoning all of his previous stealth, he rushes down the stairs, and finds his family, all of them, sitting around the grand dining table just like they used to. Laura, his mom, fuck, even his cousin Margaret. She was three years old when the fire happened.

“Derek!” His mom calls, smile gracing her face. “We wondered where you had got to! Care to join us for some breakfast?”

It worries Derek, how every person in the room hasn’t aged, even Peter. Cora would be sixteen now, but she’s not even a teenager yet. His dad should look older, but he looks like he did when the fire struck. Yet at the same time, Derek doesn’t give a single fuck. This is what he’s wanted, what he’s dreamed about for nearly six years. It’s beautiful.

He sits at the table, surrounded by faces he has missed, faces blurred by years of only looking at them in photographs. The scents of Pack, each member’s special smell unique to themselves washes over him and it smells so fucking great, he wants to cry.

“Come on Derek, eat something! You’re still a growing boy!” Derek frowns at that, he stopped growing four years ago. He has the stubble to prove it.

There’s a sudden quiet, as his family tries to find something to talk about. In that short silence he can hear his name being called. It’s not one of his families; the voice is coming from far away. That being said, the voice sounds familiar, like he’s been listening to it for days on end. He strains to hear it, but suddenly his family start talking and laughing again, and he forgets about it.

It turns out that everyone is around because it’s Laura’s 18th birthday, and like a true Hale, she prefers it to be just with family on the actual day. As Alpha in training, the big social event the day later will be packed, with cameras and moderately famous people.

The day seems familiar to Derek, but he pushes it away. He lived through this before; of course it seems fucking familiar.

It turns out he has a present wrapped up in his closet and when Laura opens it she goes mental. Its tickets to see her favourite band, people Derek has never heard of but he obviously knew about them because he bought the fucking tickets.

The whole day seems hazy, like he’s dreaming it, but also intensely sharp. It’s confusing. Plus, he can still hear that voice every so often, crying out his name. It gets more frantic and worried every time he hears it, and its making him fidgety and anxious. None of his family seems to notice. It’s almost like they’re carrying on without him, like they have roles to play that Derek isn’t aware of.

It’s dark, and Derek and Laura are sitting in Laura’s room while his mom and dad get dinner ready. It’s fairly late; Margaret and the younger kids are already asleep, having eaten a couple of hours ago.

Then, suddenly, he smells it.

This is why this day seems so familiar, he can’t believe he forgot. The Hale house burnt down on Laura’s eighteenth birthday.

He rushes out of Laura’s room, shouting at her to leave the house before he flees down the hallway and tries to find his family. He skids into the dining room and recoils in shock. In front of him, his whole family- including Laura- are sitting at the table. All of them, bar Laura and Peter are covered in burns. They don’t look like people anymore, but they’re still eating and joking as if nothing happened. Laura is covered in dirt and grime, blood pouring out of multiple wounds on her torso. Peter is missing most of his neck.

No. no no no.

“This can't be happening.”  He whispers.

“Derek!” That fucking voice, closer and louder now than it’s ever been, so familiar and so full of emotion. Derek can’t breathe, he can’t look away from the scene in front of him, why can’t he just die so he doesn’t have to face this any longer-

“Derek, please!” He suddenly feels a hand on his shoulder. He looks behind him to find Stiles, his slave, his hero.

His Mate.

“Thank god. Derek, please come back, I need you. Please, pull yourself out of this, wake up.”

Derek turns and stares back at the corpses having birthday cake in front of him. He doesn’t want to be here, this is wrong.

Wake up. Wake up. Wakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeup

In Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital, Derek Hale opens his eyes and sucks in a lungful of air with a gasp, choking on the tube. The machines go crazy, and doctors rush in, trying to stabilise the situation. Stiles loses hold of Derek’s hand, but the pulse connecting them flares even brighter and refuses to let go. It’s stronger now, Stiles thinks that he can even feel what Derek’s feeling himself, although he only knows this because he can feel a slow grind of pain at the back of his head, and as far as he knows, Stiles wasn’t injured.

Within the hour, Derek’s wounds are completely healed.   

Stiles is waiting outside the room, the doctors making him leave so that they could run tests on Derek and see what’s happening. When they come out they look utterly confused, but seem pleased that Derek is now fine. They allow Isaac, Erica and Boyd in first, being pack. They smile at the sight of their recovered Alpha (Erica then slaps him to make sure he’s real) and they scent each other happily. From the dazed grin on Derek’s face, they haven’t done that in a while, and Derek loves it.

Stiles hovers by the door, feeling uncomfortable. Although he has this new connection to Derek, his owner, he knows that he doesn’t fit into this dynamic.

Derek sees him in the corner, and beckons him in, a tendril of relief and gratitude pushing through the bond. Stiles doesn’t know if it’s directed at him or not.

He walks into the room, hesitant and tentative.

“Hi Derek.” He says, and he can feel a smile stretching his face but it feels cautious and small and not a very good smile at all.

“Come here,” Derek replies, smile much nicer, and pats the side of the bed where his betas aren’t sitting.

Stiles sits right at the edge. Derek’s sitting up, there’s an IV in his arm but Stiles thinks it won’t be in there much longer.

“I’m glad you’re okay. I don’t know what would happen to me if you weren’t.” Stiles says and chuckles nervously.

Derek looks upset for a moment, and guilt and anxiety push through the bond. “I’d never leave you to have to do something you don’t want. You saved me Stiles, saved me from my own head. I can't thank you enough.”

Deaton is sitting in the corner. “You know what this means Derek? What you’re feeling?

Derek looks at Deaton, and for a second he appears absolutely terrified. “I know. It’s a Mating bond. I didn’t realise at first, but it’s pretty clear to me now.”

Deaton smiles, and he looks more human than Stiles has ever seen him, which seems strange because besides himself, Deaton is the most human in the room. “Do you also know what that means?”

Derek frowns. “What are you getting at? I don’t understand.”

Deaton smirks. Stiles fist pumps internally, he knew that Deaton was a smug motherfucker when it came to his intelligence, he just never shows it. “Well, in accordance with the Mating act of 1762, any Mate of an Alpha is automatically made free and declared a citizen of the state. They are to be treated with respect, as they now hold more power than the average Beta, not physically of course, and technically they hold the same authority as their Alpha. However, this may be a little different for you two, because traditionally the Mating bond occurs between two Weres. If my memory serves me correctly, you two are the fourth Were-human Mate bond since records began. Certainly there hasn’t been once in at least one hundred and fifty years.”

There’s a sudden rushing noise in Stiles’ ears, and he doesn’t quite catch the end of Deaton's speech.

“I’m free?” He asks, voice quavering. This can’t be happening. It’s too good to be true.

Derek slides his feet over the side of the bed, and stands up. He doesn’t wobble, and he looks absolutely fine. Stiles can feel the joy push through the bond and he thinks that if he didn’t have an IV in his arm, Derek would get on his knees.

“Stiles, my mate. However unexpected, I am glad that you are mine. I’ve… I’ve been alone for a long time now, and I thought that was what was best for me, but you… you make me happy. Can’t you feel it through the bond? And the fact that you are free, well. Even if our bond made no difference I would consider freeing you anyway. I already consider you my equal.”

Stiles knows that there are tears dripping down his cheeks but he really doesn’t give a fuck right now.

“I… fuck; I’ve been waiting for this for so long. I just wanted to be free so I could find my parents again. You’ve helped me, Derek. I can't thank you enough.”

Stiles launches himself at Derek, who catches him easily, holding him firmly at the waist. Stiles doesn’t think, he immediately kisses Derek, lips sliding together. Stiles is crying and the kiss is all wet and gross, but to be honest, he really doesn’t give a monkeys.

Derek kisses back for a couple of seconds and then stops, putting Stiles down.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” Stiles apologises. He can't believe he just did that. “I was just so happy and I-”

Derek smiles softly, and brings Stiles close so their foreheads are touching. “It’s okay; it’s just that I’d rather kiss you when we aren’t surrounded by so many people.”

Stiles slowly breaks away and realises that Deaton, Scott and literally the whole of Derek’s pack are staring at them. Erica is looking at them hungrily, like she wants nothing more than for them to kiss again so she can whip out her phone and upload a picture to whatever social networking site she’s on.

Derek is still holding onto Stiles possessively, and Stiles can feel the contentment from the man pushing through the bond. Stiles gives a nudge of happiness back and feels the warm pulse in return.

“Well, doctor, it appears that I’m okay, thanks to you.” Derek says, sincerely to Deaton. “Any chance I can go home now?”

The doctor who had been treating Derek before Deaton came in coughs, and the whole pack turn their gaze upon him. “Well, I think it would be prudent to stay a little longer, just to make sure…” The beta trails off, seeing Derek’s face and his glowing red eyes. “Yes, yes, that should be fine, if you need anything then come back again.”

The seven of them shuffle out of the room, leaving the doctor with his clipboard looking rather forlorn and indecisive. Derek captures Stiles’ hand in his own, and when Stiles pushes through his pleasure of the action, he tightens his fingers. 

The pack gathers around the cars, Isaac having brought over the Camaro for Derek to drive home. Stiles wonders aloud where the reporters are, and Isaac gets a sneaky grin on his face before telling them that he said to the media that Derek would be coming out the front entrance. He also apparently told them it would be another two days before the doctors were even thinking about releasing him. He doesn’t look particularly bothered at the fact that he lied.

“What’s going to happen now?” Erica asks, one hand on her stomach, the other wrapped round Boyd’s arm.

Derek sighs, and squishes Stiles closer to him. “I think Stiles and I are going to head home, and sleep for a while if that’s okay. Pack meeting tomorrow?”

Isaac whimpers and Erica looks like she’s going to cry.

Scott looks confused.

“Sorry,” Erica says, angrily rubbing at her eyes. “Hormones. It’s just… we haven’t had a pack meeting for so long. I miss them.”

Boyd nods his agreement.

Derek’s face is blank, but Stiles can feel the guilt and the shame pushing through the bond. Stiles comforts him, holds a little tighter.

“Then it’s settled,” Derek declares, squeezing Stiles’ hand lightly in thanks. “You’re all coming over tomorrow. I’ll supply the food. Scott, would you like to join us?”

Scott looks bewildered for a moment, before his face breaks out into a huge grin. “If you’re asking, I’d love to. Can I bring Allison and Lydia along too?”

Derek smiles, and for the first time he looks like he truly wants to be with people. “Of course. We’re a pack, aren’t we?”

There’s another round of hugs, of which Deaton excuses himself before hurrying off for “work.”  Derek gets in the car after pulling the door open for Stiles, and they drive off back to the Hale mansion. They hold hands the entire way, and Stiles can’t believe that he’s finally free and with the man that he thinks, no, he knows he loves.

When the car stops outside the house, the two of them don’t leave the car for a while. Finally Derek sighs, and turns to his Mate. “This house seemed so empty with just me in it. However horrible Peter was to you, I’m so fucking glad he brought you into my life.”

When they open the door, it’s quiet and Derek asks Stiles where his father is.

“He had to go back to the compound,” Stiles replies, wrapping his arms around Derek’s torso. “He wanted to stay, but he only had a little time off, and as Sheriff he was kinda needed.”

The two of them traipse up the elegant stairs, and make their way into Derek’s bedroom. Stiles feels Derek pause outside of the bedroom that used to be his own, but he ignores it, and pulls them past. He wants to sleep with Derek now. He knows that Derek will never hurt him, truly knows. It’s hard to hide when you can feel another’s every emotion.

Stiles kicks off his shoes and lies back on the bed, grimacing at the various aches and pains that have niggled into his body as a result of slumming it on the hospital chairs.

“It’s so good to be home,” He says, one hand over his eyes. When he hears no reply he looks up and sees Derek standing there still. “What’s up, big guy?”

Derek looks a little unsteady on his feet, and Stiles sits up ready to help. “Is everything okay?” The bond is a whirlwind of emotions; so many that Stiles can’t even try to pick them apart. 

“I never thought I’d have someone in my bed.” Derek says quietly. “I thought I’d die alone. I thought I’d live here, doing nothing until I could die peacefully in my sleep or if I couldn’t wait that long by any other means necessary. You’ve changed so many things in my life, and while some of them have been hard and painful, I’m so glad you’re here. I’m terrified that you’ll leave me.”

“Hey, hey,” Stiles says, standing up and taking his Mate’s face between his palms. “I’m not leaving you anytime soon, okay?”

Guilt pushes through the bond, acrid and strong. “But I hurt you. I nearly killed you. And you’re free now, why would you want to stay with someone like me?”

Stiles smiles sadly, and strokes the side of Derek’s face gently, watching the way the Alpha unconsciously pushes his cheek into Stiles’ hand. “You also saved me, fed me, brought me back to health. You showed me that I am a real person, and that my collar doesn’t define me. You’ve stood up against millions of people in order to fight for me. Why would I want to leave?”

Derek doesn’t seem to have words. Stiles doesn’t mind.

He slowly undresses Derek, leaving him in just his underwear, before doing the same himself. He leads Derek into the bed, pulling them both under the covers.

“Let’s just sleep now. I want to hold you. 

The two of them lay there, both facing each other, sharing heat, sharing thoughts, sharing life.

 

 

 

***

 

 

Derek wakes the next morning, feeling ravenously hungry, but also more content than he’s ever been in his whole life. He quickly realises that Stiles is asleep still on top of him, breathing slowly into his ear. He could get up, but he’s quite happy right where he is thank you very much. He then realises that there’s something poking into the side of his thigh. It’s suddenly very awkward in the bed. Derek himself feels very aroused. It’s uncomfortable, his hard on is literally pushing into Stiles’ stomach, but he can’t move because he’s covered in teenage boy and he doesn’t want to wake him.

Slowly, Stiles begins to stir, and he blinks heavily before his eyes land on Derek’s face.

“Hey handsome,” he smiles lazily, eyes half lidded. “Aren’t you a sight this early in the morning?” Instead of waiting for a reply, he arches down and catches Derek’s mouth in a kiss.  He then realises what’s going on. “My, Derek is that a knife or are you just happy to see me?”

Derek snorts at the idiocy, because, seriously. “I could say the same thing to you.” He retorts. Stiles grins back at him and then captures his lips in a kiss again.

The two of them make out for a while, sharing mouths. It gets steadily hotter and Stiles yanks off the sheets, before grinding back down on Derek’s lap. The bond between them zings with arousal and heat. Derek doesn’t stop because he can feel how happy Stiles is with the situation.

When Stiles starts to pull down his underwear, he does stop, breaking the kiss. “Are you sure?” He says. He doesn’t want to make the same mistake as last time. Last time, it really didn’t end well, and he wants this time, or whatever time it is, to be the best time that Stiles has ever had. He wants to be perfect for Stiles.

Stiles grins and pecks at Derek’s lips. “I’m sure,” He says. “If I feel uncomfortable, I’ll tell you.”

Derek searches into Stiles’ eyes, pushes at the bond. Stiles nudges back playfully. “I’m sure Derek! I just wanna see you naked, come on!”

Stiles has an amazing body, a little on the skinny side still but long and lean and graceful. His cock is long, about the same size as his own but not as thick. It looks amazing.

Derek can’t help himself, he grabs hold of his Mate’s cock and starts pumping it, licking his palm first to provide slick. Stiles moans in approval and the feeling echoes through the bond. They stay like that, a little bit longer; kissing each other silly whilst Derek caresses Stiles like it’s his job.

“You feel amazing, Derek,” Stiles breathes into Derek’s mouth. He whines a little when Derek thumbs the head, and the sound goes straight to his own dick. “Wanna fuck you. Can I fuck you Derek? I’d be so patient, make it so good…” He trails off, biting a path of bruises down Derek’s neck, while Derek lies under Stiles and takes it all.

“S- sure,” He manages. “Never done it before though.”

Stiles sits up suddenly, ass right over Derek’s dick. “That’s okay,” He grins happily. “I have.”

He reaches over and suddenly there’s lube in his hands. Derek knows it’s his but he doesn’t question how Stiles found it, too involved in the sensation of Stiles kissing each of his nipples, biting them softly. He likes biting, he decides.

Derek suddenly feels slick at his hole, and he tenses a little. He’s never even fingered himself before, let alone shoved a penis up there.

“Shh…” Stiles whispers, slowly stroking Derek’s torso. “It’s okay. I’ll take care of you.”

He pushes a finger in slowly, letting Derek get used to it. It feels odd, a little wrong, but Stiles said it would feel good and he doesn’t question him. The second finger burns a little, and aching burn, but then Stiles presses something inside of him and it feel’s so fucking amazing.

“Again,” He gasps. “Please do that again.”

Stiles complies and soon there’s three fingers thrusting inside of him and Derek is a quivering mess. “In me, get in me, please, holy shit-”

There’s suddenly nothing inside of him and he whines a little.

“Do you want to use a condom?” Stiles says, and uncertainly breaks through the bond.

Derek doesn’t know if he can think properly whilst there should be three long fingers inside of him, hitting him in places he never knew existed. “It’s your decision. I saw your test results on the documents, I know you’re clean.”  He gasps out.

He feels nothing for a second, and then there’s something blunt and hard pressing at his entrance. It hurts, a lot, but if Stiles can reach his prostate it’ll be alright.

Stiles slides in slowly, which Derek is thankful for. He can probably feel the pain. It’s about a minute before Stiles sighs, and leans over to kiss Derek. “I’m all the way in. Fuck, you feel so good around me. I almost never got to fuck anyone, I always had to lie down and take it. You’re so different, so amazing. I love you.”

Derek groans at the feeling of Stiles moving inside of him. It hurts less now, feels better with every movement. “I love you too, Stiles. I love you until my dying breath, I, fuck, you feel so good.”

Stiles wiggles his hips and begins to thrust faster, pulling out until he’s almost out and then pushing back in with force. Derek could stay like this forever.

“Keep going, please, keep going.” He grunts, holding onto his legs and pulling them apart wider so that Stiles can get even closer.

He can feel the heavy burn of an orgasm approaching; it fizzles and sparks in his gut. Stiles is groaning in between biting his neck, whispering nonsensical words that mean nothing yet everything.

“Faster, please, Stiles.” He moans helplessly, and grasps hold of his cock, milking it. He’s so ready to come. Stiles bats his hand out of the way and takes hold of his dick instead, stroking in time with his thrusts.

Stiles whispers, “come for me.” Just as he hits Derek’s prostate and flicks at the head of his cock and Derek’s gone, the burn exploding and hitting his whole body. He can feel his back arching but everything seems uninteresting in the face of what he’s feeling. He yells out “Stiles!” as he climaxes, and a second later he feels double the pleasure as Stiles comes also, the exhilarating feeling pulsing through the bond. There’s nothing between them now, the doors inside their minds are wide open and Derek immerses himself in the sheer bliss that Stiles is feeling. The sensation keeps climbing higher, as the two of them keep feeding off of each others ecstasy, until Derek slumps back on the bed, feeling like he’s just been run over by a train but in the best way possible.

Stiles collapses on top of him, sticky with sweat and breathing hard. They lie there for a few seconds, completely astounded by what has just happened.

“Wow.” Stiles says. Reaching up and playing with Derek’s hair. “That was incredible.”

“It’s gonna take a lot to beat that.” Derek agrees.

Stiles sits up at that, leaning on his elbow. He smiles, and kisses Derek fully, tongues sliding together. “Good thing we have the rest of our lives to try.” He replies, and Derek likes the sound of that.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

When Erica enters the house four hours later, despite their attempts to get rid of the smell, her nose catches what they’ve done immediately and she laughs and laughs until Derek smacks her with the oven gloves.

 


	12. Chapter 12

 

 

The day dawns bright and sunny, and for the first half an hour of it Derek and Stiles are in the shower getting clean. At least they are until Stiles gives Derek the messiest blow job ever, meaning that the shower takes far longer than necessary.

“I can’t believe that it’s finally here, you know?” Stiles says, and Derek hums in agreement. He’s going to remember this day for a long time, he can tell.

They eat naked, so they don’t get any food on their clothes, and also because Stiles thinks it’s fun to walk around the house in the nude.

Usually, they laze around for a bit before getting dressed, but today is special, and so they start getting ready immediately. They help each other get ready, shrugging on fine clothing fit for royalty. Derek spends about twenty minutes in the bathroom, touching up his hair, and can only be dragged away by Stiles telling him they’re going to be late if he doesn’t get a fucking move on.

When they’re finally ready, Derek guns the car out of the driveway and then they’re off.

When they finally make it inside, Erica looks on the verge of tears, something Stiles was sort of expecting, but really didn’t want to happen.

“What if he leaves me?” She sobs, clutching at the shoulders of her alpha. “Does this dress make me look fat? I wanted to make sure that it hid my bump but I’m scared I still look disgusting. Oh my god, I look gross don’t I?”

Derek strokes Erica’s heavily made up face with his finger. “Erica, you look amazing. If I didn’t have Stiles, I would be jealous that I wasn’t marrying you today. And trust me, that dress is perfect on you. Now don’t cry, you don’t want to ruin your makeup!”

Stiles told Derek exactly what to say the night before, after the older man had whispered his fears of being a crap Alpha to Stiles. From what he can tell, Derek followed Stiles’ speech to the letter. Anyway, it’s true, Erica’s dress is as tight and low cut as it could possibly without a nipple showing until her waist where it flares out into a gorgeous skirt covered in lace and beading. She doesn’t look pregnant at all, besides from her glowing features.  Her hair is braided and piled on top of her head elegantly, and although she’s toned down on the make up with a more subtle look, she’s still rocking the fire engine red lipstick. As far as he knows, Boyd hasn’t seen his fiancée yet and he’s in for a real treat.

With ten minutes to go until show time, Stiles excuses himself, although not before a lingering peck on Derek’s mouth, and makes his way into the church. Although neither of the two are particularly religious, the church is where Boyd’s parents got married, and Boyd wanted to keep the tradition. Erica wanted to have her friends as close as possible, and so Stiles is sitting in the front row, along with Lydia, Scott and Allison. They all look amazing; Scott actually dressed up for once. Lydia looks just as put together as always, and the pale pink dress she’s chosen complements her figure perfectly.

Boyd is up the front, with Isaac standing behind him as best man. Boyd looks more scared than the time Derek went missing, although for completely, much nicer reasons.

When the music starts up, Boyd’s eyes snap to the end of the church, where Erica walks down the aisle, a huge bouquet of flowers in one hand, and Derek guiding her with the other. She looks radiant, elegant, and like she’s the happiest girl in the world.

Derek hands Erica over to Boyd- a very traditional thing to do, but Erica wanted to have her Alpha have a part in her wedding. Derek stands next to Isaac, and if Stiles is not mistaken, he thinks he can see tears in Derek’s eyes.

The service goes wonderfully, Isaac managing to not drop or lose the rings. They all go outside to have photos taken, including Stiles who is hauled over in order to have a picture taken with Derek. Then, the newly wed couple make their way to a limo in order to make their way to the venue where the ‘fun happens’ as Erica put it.

There’s so much food, Stiles thinks there might be enough leftovers to feed the entirety of Beacon Hills for another week. Derek says he’s exaggerating, but for once Stiles thinks he’s telling the truth. The first dance between Boyd and Erica is adorably cute, but as the night goes on Erica gets raunchier, despite not consuming a drop of alcohol. The venue- a very posh, sophisticated hotel- supplies the party with expensive, wolfsbane infused alcohol, meaning that for the first time Stiles sees Derek drunk. It’s hilarious, because all that happens is that Derek gets ridiculously handsy- especially for someone who’s usually very reserved about their relationship outside of the house. Stiles loves it, and thinks he should try and get Derek tipsy more often. The party winds down as the couple say their goodbyes. As a wedding gift, Derek bought them a two week holiday on a remote island in the Philippines, with everything paid for- including a spa day for Erica and a four day trip to Malaysia. Once the happy couple leaves, everything starts to be packed up, and Derek and Stiles make their way home.

Since Derek is still a little tipsy, Stiles drives. He doesn’t usually drive the Camaro- Derek got him his own car, a crappy old blue jeep that reminds Stiles heavily of his mother. Derek said he could have as nice a car as he liked, but Stiles wanted this one the most. His dad visits once a fortnight, and is planning to move over the Beacon Hills permanently to make up for the lost time whilst Stiles was enslaved. In order to stay with them, Stiles’ dad is considering taking the bite, and then becoming part of the police station within Beacon Hills itself. Stiles just wants whatever will make his father happiest and healthiest. Although Derek’s profiling against human slavery has raised a lot of awareness, as well as support for human rights, slavery is still legal in the USA, and probably will remain so for a while. But still, they don’t give up fighting.

Derek’s started writing again, not that Stiles really knew Derek when he wrote before. Derek says that he was rewriting a book, that he found new inspiration. He says it’s almost done, but he won’t let Stiles read it until it’s totally finished. Stiles cannot wait.

When they arrive home, Stiles hauls Derek up into bed, removing clothing little by little until the two of them are pressed together, skin to skin. The two of them exchange a light kiss, soft and meaningful. They haven’t said the three words yet, but it doesn’t really matter to Stiles, because he knows what he’s feeling, and how Derek acts means more to him than words. That isn’t to say that they won’t tell each other that they love each other at some point, but for now, Stiles is warm, happy, and content.

 

 

 

***

 

 

Its three months after the wedding. Stiles is baking cookies in the large kitchen, whilst the family cat, Greenburg, flops on the floor between his feet and gets in the way.

“I’ve finished it,” comes the voice from the doorway, just as Stiles is getting flour off the shelf. “You can read it now if you want.”

 For a moment, Stiles is utterly confused, and then he remembers. “Oh fuck, are you serious?!” He yells happily, and launches himself at the Alpha, who catches him easily and holds him tight.

“Totally serious.” Derek replies, smile on his lips.

“Can I read it now?” Derek shrugs in response to the question.

“Sure. But I don’t want to be here when you read it. Is that okay?” Derek says, and Stiles is a little confused for a moment but nods.

“That’s totally fine, Der. As long as I can read it.”

“It’s in my study. I’m just going to go out until you’re done okay? Call me when you’ve finished.”

Stiles races up to the study. When the two of them started their relationship, Derek told him that he could go into the study whenever he wanted, no rules, but that Derek did prefer being on his own when he wrote.

He sees the neat pile of paper on the desk, and eagerly reaches for it.

 _Excess of Liberty,_ the title reads. Written by Derek Hale.

Stiles is absorbed quickly and easily. The tale is of two boys, one named Dylan, the other Tyler. It quickly becomes clear to Stiles that Derek has moulded the characters around the two of them, Dylan being himself, and Tyler, Derek.

It’s a story about slavery, the actions of the rich, and the consequences on the enslaved. It hits very close to home. In the story, Tyler is not a Were at all, but a human like Dylan, although he is not enslaved. When Dylan is taken under ownership of the wealthiest man in the town, (a man who brings to mind Peter very much, making Stiles shudder), the two must meet in secret in order to continue their relationship.

The ending is stark, brutal, but also very real. Dylan is killed as a result of his owner finding out about the relationship between the two of them. It hits Stiles hard, and he finds himself sobbing as Derek describes a future filled with loss and devastation in front of him due to slavery. Although the story never happened to him, Stiles is sure that somewhere this has happened to slaves.

When Derek gets home after driving around aimlessly all day, Stiles throws himself into his love’s arms, sobbing uncontrollably. When he regains the use of speech, he compliments Derek’s work.

“It’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever read. Thank you. Thank you for being so perfect.” He says, whilst Derek presses kisses to his hairline.

Eight months later, the book goes on sale and becomes an instant sensation. An anti-slavery fiction, written by the person who practically started the fight against slavery in the first place? Derek gets so much fanmail thanking him for his work that he has to buy storage holders just to keep them all away.

Eight long years of fighting against slavery and its effects, a bill is passed in the Senate making it illegal to hold slaves, buy slaves, or keep slaves in the house, effective immediately.  It’s enforced rigorously. They did it.

And at night, Stiles lies next to his Mate, curled up into Derek’s side. And he sleeps, because he knows he is safe.

 

 

 

 

 

Shit that I made/that people made for me/links:

Mix: [Excess of Liberty](http://8tracks.com/imthealphanow/excess-of-liberty-1)

Gifset: [(made by sher-lokied on tumblr)](http://sher-lokied.tumblr.com/post/77751405192/excess-of-liberty-by-imthealphanow-in-a-society)

[The first chapter of this fic translated into Chinese:](http://pitterpatter.lofter.com/post/3846d1_123ad52) (I'm not sure if the rest of my fic is translated yet, because the translator hasn't got in touch but there you go)

My Tumblr: [fuckyesstilesstilinski](http://fuckyesstilesstilinski.tumblr.com/)

Lydia, the best person in the world's [tumblr](http://iwouldlovetohave-thesex-withyou.tumblr.com/).

[Shit floor plan I made of Derek's house](http://fuckyesstilesstilinski.tumblr.com/fanfiction), as well as a chronological timeline of the entire fic. Someone told me they thought my timelines were fucked up, so if you feel the same way, then yeah, click here. If you haven't finished this fic yet, then there are spoilers all the way to the end lol.

 

If anyone makes any art it will either be added at the end here or at the specific place in the fic where the art is depicting:)))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. I've been working on this since January, and whilst I've been a pain with my sporadic updates, I hope it was worth it! First and foremost, thank you too my amazing Beta and best friend Lydia, you are a shining star! Thank you to everyone who has stayed with me since I posted the first chapter (I'm sure you're still around somewhere) and to anyone who actually read my work. You're all fab! (Also, the reason why this is late and so short is because I went on holiday with my friends last week and was pretty much drunk every day so yeah)
> 
> I should be posting the first chapter of my new sterek fic in a couple of weeks, so look out for that! 
> 
> As always, comments, kudos etc are greatly appreciated. Since I've finished this now, surely I can get some art?!?! If any of you guys do show your creative abilities to me (I'm sure you have them) then message me on tumblr, or comment on here. I will include it in the fic it you want!


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